


Mr. Barrow and Mr. Kent

by flippyspoon



Series: Brightonverse [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S3. Thomas takes up with a horse groom.  Lady Mary's gone anarchist.  Bohemians invade. Jimmy sorts himself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**March 1922**

"You call that polished?" Thomas picked up Mr. Branson’s left shoe, a cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth. "You’ve missed three spots here, Jimmy."

Jimmy grimaced and grabbed the shoe back. In the servant’s hall, he stood up from the table and looked at it under a light as the sun had already set outside and the room was dim.

"I don’t see em’," he muttered.

Thomas followed and took the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a puff. He pointed at a smudge near the toe. “There.” Two small marks remained above the heel. “There and there.” Thomas smirked and picked a newspaper up off the table, swatting Jimmy lightly on the nose. “Bad dog.”

Jimmy jerked back, making a funny face. “Cheeky.”

"Cheeky Mr. Barrow to you." Thomas smiled slightly and nodded. He wandered out of the hall, on his way to the kitchen to steal a bite. Jimmy rolled his eyes and followed, still holding the shoe and a rag with polish on it. In the kitchen, he leaned on the stove, working the heel.

Thomas shook his head at him, nipping a biscuit from a warm plate on the counter. “You do it over there, you’re going to get an earful from-“

"What on earth you think you’re doin’ polishin’ at the stove? Are ya daft? You do that in the hall!" Mrs. Patmore’s screech made both of them wince as she barreled into the kitchen, but only Thomas was laughing. She went on for another minute, during which Jimmy was compared to somebody from The Bible with a long name he’d never heard of.

Mrs. Patmore sent a baleful glare Thomas’s direction and he coughed. She nodded at his absconded biscuit. “Would you be so very kind as to take your little friend and your sticky fingers  _out_  of my kitchen?”

"Certainly, Mrs. Patmore," Thomas said cooly.

Back in the servant’s hall, Jimmy slumped down next to Thomas and sighed. “Won’t be getting pudding tonight.”

"You can have some of mine," Thomas said magnanimously, stubbing out his cigarette.

"Really?" Jimmy said, perking up.

"No."

Jimmy pretended not to be amused. “Bad dog.” He gave up on the shoes for a moment and set them on a chair. “Don’t know what the point is, me practicing little valet jobs. No one’s going to need a new valet anytime soon.”

"It’s always good to be prepared," Thomas insisted. "You never know what’s going to happen. Trust me on that. Odds are Lady Edith will marry someday or Lady Mary wed again. A new husband could need a valet."

"They’d already have their own. And some say valets are going out of style."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Now that Mosely’s back with Mrs. Crawley, that’s one less to worry about. It’s always something."

Jimmy just nodded and crossed his arms on the table. It was subtle, but he couldn’t help but notice that Thomas scooted away from him and moved his hands far from his on the table. They had become friends after all, following the incident at the fair. And just in time too. The death of Matthew Crawley had shocked them all and it was good to have someone to talk to. Of course, there was Alfred. But Jimmy had found that Alfred didn’t understand things the way Thomas did, not after Jimmy started to get to know him better. There had been more than one long evening spent in the servants hall as Thomas smoked and the two of them spoke about Matthew Crawley and Lady Sybil and then the war. Thomas had even told him about the blind lieutenant at the hospital. It had taken Thomas a while to stop trying so hard and Jimmy liked him better when he was just himself, even if he was occasionally a bit of a bastard. Mrs. Hughes had told Jimmy a few weeks ago that she was amazed by how Thomas had softened. When he was nasty now, it was more just good natured ribbing and it always amused Jimmy. Still, he was obviously skittish about physical proximity and Jimmy could hardly blame him. It was the one bit of awkwardness left from all their trouble. Sometimes Jimmy thought he should say something; that it was alright, it had been about a year and half since the kissing incident and six months since Thomas had intervened at the fair. Jimmy trusted him now. Odd as it was, Thomas was by far his closest friend at Downton. But bringing it up would mean bringing up the very thing between them that had created that little bit of awkwardness and he didn’t want to upset his friend. Better to let it lie.

Instead, Jimmy said, “I’ve got the day off tomorrow. Thought I’d knock around Ripon. If you need anything, I mean.”

"Ah, cheers," Thomas muttered. "Pomade and cig-"

"Cigarettes," Jimmy finished. "Naturally."

"I’ll give you some money in the morning," Thomas said. "And if you go by a bookshop, maybe you could pick up a couple."

"What books?"

"Novels. Doesn’t matter what." He played with his cigarette case. "I’ll read anything. You could ask the book clerk what’s new, I suppose."

"Right then," Jimmy agreed. His mind wondered. He didn’t so much mind being a footman, but it did occur to him that it would be nice to rise to valet someday. The problem was too many ladies. Edith, Mary and now Rose… The men were always jilting them or turning out to be married already or dying tragically. He imagined if he ever did become a valet at Downton, it would probably be for Mary’s boy, Little Matty, when he was grown. "I should’ve been a girl."

Thomas had been drinking tea and he nearly spit it out. “Pardon?”

"I mean because… Well, because maids seem to… Oh, nevermind."

"Might’ve simplified things on my side," Thomas cracked.

They glanced at each other and Jimmy was so surprised he burst into chuckles. Thomas laughed until Carson appeared to scold them.

* * *

The next day Jimmy went to Ripon. It was a fine day out, excepting the hour he wasted talking to a girl he met in an ice cream shop who he found very silly and boring. The truth was, as he walked about, he kept wishing Thomas was with him. When he saw a fat man talking nonsense to a dog in the street, he tried to imagine what joke Thomas would make. He wondered if Thomas would like the grey pinstripe he saw in a suit shop. Jimmy couldn’t imagine himself in it, but he’d seen Thomas wear something similar. At a watch shop, he paused in front of window. He hemmed and hawed and finally went in with a sigh. He’d always felt badly about Thomas having his watch stolen by the toughs at the fair. It would be a nice thing to replace it. Ever since, he’d been using one of Mr. Carson’s old watches. The man in the store showed him a lovely one similar to Thomas’s old watch and it wasn’t too dear. That was the unfortunate moment when his eye caught sight of something much lovelier on display and it occurred to Jimmy that an under-butler should really have something a bit grander. It was pewter; not gold or silver. But Thomas would like it. When the clerk told him the price, Jimmy immediately dismissed the idea, frowning.

"Best go with the other one," Jimmy said. Then an image popped into his head of what Thomas’s reaction to the finer watch would be. He’d love it. He’d surely love it. He might even smile genuinely which was something he rarely did. Teeth might even make an appearance. It was quite nice when Thomas really smiled. The clerk was doing up the box when Jimmy found himself saying, "Eh, I’m very sorry. I’ll take the pewter one after all. Just have to skip on films… For the next year or so."

A few doors down from the watch shop, Jimmy stopped in the middle of the walk and stood stock still, holding the little box tied with ribbon in his hand.

"That was stupid, Jimmy."

The bookshop was another half an hour of deciding, even after the clerk there helped him. He’d been intending to eat dinner in a pub, but now he’d spent a small fortune on the watch. He picked up the pomade and cigarettes and started on his way back to Downton.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Back at Downton, Thomas had spent most of the morning wishing he was in Ripon. In the afternoon, he served tea to Mr. Branson; Downton’s stable master, Mr. Colley; and the stable groom, Eddie Redman. In the old days, Mr. Barnson would’ve met with the outside servants, well, outside somewhere. But since Mr. Branson lived in the manor and had radical ideas, all sorts of upper level people who worked on the estate were coming in and out. It had taken Lord Grantham a little getting used to, but Thomas had heard him once say that Mr. Crawley probably would’ve liked it. And so it was. Thomas didn’t see the stable workers often. Mr. Colley seemed alright. He had a gruff voice and a brown handlebar mustache that kept dipping into his tea quite unattractively. Eddie on the other hand. Eddie was a little interesting. He was still young, just a little older than Jimmy, and had pale blonde hair and dark green eyes. His chin seemed a bit too round for his face and his ears stuck out. But he wasn’t ugly. For the most part he sat quietly, until Mr. Colley would ask his opinion about this or that horse and the possible purchase of a new stallion. But his eyes roved about the room. He clearly wasn’t used to having tea in a great house and he stuck out in his brown jodhpurs and vest. He kept glancing up at Thomas too. When Thomas served him more tea or offered him biscuits, he smiled and looked right in his eyes which wasn’t usual.

Later Thomas found a few minutes for a smoke outside. He was enjoying the late afternoon air of early spring. Lately Mrs. Hughes had put out some potted daisies at the back entrance and they had started to bloom. He lit a cigarette and wandered further towards the open gate, wondering if Jimmy would get home before dinner.

"Mr. Barrow?" He turned to see Eddie walking towards him. He and Mr. Colley had visited downstairs after their tea and Mrs. Patmore had stuffed them with shepherd’s pie while the family was dining upstairs. Eddie nodded at his cigarette. "I don’t suppose you have another?"

"Of course." Thomas gave him a cigarette and lit it for him.

"Thanks," Eddie mumbled. He took a long drag and nodded. "Feel I should almost apologize. Seems improper for a man of your stature to be servin’ the likes of me."

Thomas smiled uncertainly, wondering if Eddie was trying to flatter him for some reason or just talking.

"Mr. Branson has a different way of doing things," Thomas said. "Anyway, it’s nice to see people from the rest of the estate. Doesn’t happen often. Mixes things up a bit."

"Do you much like horses yourself?"

Thomas leaned against the gate and shrugged. “Don’t know really. Never even touched one, even in the war. My father was a clockmaker and I’ve always worked inside.”

There was a quiet moment. And then, so quickly and subtly that Thomas thought he might’ve imagined it, Eddie’s eyes grazed over him and the corner of his mouth turned up. And just as quickly he turned his head to look out at the trees, calmly smoking.

"If you have some time, I could certainly show you around. Evenings everyone retires from the stable unless there’s a mare about to birth. And there’s not now. There’d be no one around, ya see. If you’d like to pet a horse."

Thomas’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. It wasn’t that he was so taken with Eddie (although if he squinted, the man could pass for Jimmy’s less attractive brother), but he could hardly believe Eddie was saying what Thomas was sure he was saying. The thought was terrifying. A few years ago, he would’ve been beyond doubt. But after all the trouble with Jimmy… Still, he could agree to meet and see what happened. As long as he didn’t make a move first himself, he thought he’d be safe.

"That’s kind of you," Thomas said cooly. "I think I’d have an hour to spare after dinner tomorrow. Round about seven o’clock?"

Eddie’s mouth broke into a wide grin. “Excellent. Can I assume you know where the stables are?”

"I’m not that hopeless," Thomas muttered. "I think I’ll manage."

"Very good," Eddie said. "I should be getting on then. And you’ve got dinner soon." He offered his hand and Thomas stuck his cigarette in his mouth, to shake it. It was definitely not his imagination that Eddie held onto his hand a couple of moments too long, stood a little too close, and looked into his eyes a little too meaningfully. "Nite, Mr. Barrow."

"Nite, Eddie."

Eddie left through the gate and Thomas nodded at the ground, smirking to himself, feeling giddy and saucy and a little bit delicious. He didn’t even notice Jimmy approaching the gate, passing Eddie on the way with a nod and wearing a funny expression on his face, his arms full of parcels.

"Who’s that then?" Jimmy said, walking up to Thomas.

"Eddie Redman," Thomas said, wearing a now uncontrollable smirk. He spoke through a puff of smoke and took the cigarette from his mouth with a dramatic gesture of his arm. "Horse groom."

Thomas was looking after Eddie, getting smaller in the distance. Jimmy followed his gaze and frowned. “You could do better than him, ya know.”

Thomas’s eyebrows shot up in an admirable impersonation of Lady Mary and he looked at Jimmy in surprise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

They made their way back to the servants hall. “Sure ya don’t, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said slyly.

Thomas’s lips twitched in amusement. “Anyhow, have you got a hall full of eligible footmen waiting somewhere?”

"Not at present," Jimmy admitted. "Give me a few weeks, I can be very resourceful."

"I never doubted you," Thomas said.

At the back door Jimmy stopped him, blocking his way and fixing him with a dark look. “Bit of a risk, isn’t it? Considering.”

"All life is a risk, James," Thomas said airily, stubbing his cigarette out on the step.

"I’m not jokin’," Jimmy said. "After everything that’s happened…"

"As far as I know he’s invited me down to visit the stables. And I intend to act as if that’s exactly what I’ve been invited for and nothing more. I’ll not make the same mistake twice. Trust me on that."

Jimmy still looked troubled, but he nodded. “Alright then. Just…watch yourself, Thomas.”

"I will," Thomas agreed. "I promise."

There was just enough time before their own dinner for Jimmy to follow Thomas to his room and give him his things.

"Cigarettes…pomade." Jimmy tossed him a couple of small packages that Thomas set on his bureau. He held the books in one hand and frowned at a small white box wrapped with a ribbon that he held in the other.

"Books?" Thomas said.

Jimmy cleared his throat and handed over the books.

" _Tarzan the Terrible_ ," Thomas read off the first cover. He nodded in approval. He’d read a couple of the Tarzan books already and they were fun and adventurous. He inspected the other one and tipped his head. " _Women in Love_?"

"I didn’t know what to get," Jimmy sighed. "So I asked the clerk for something light and something more dramatic. The clerk said it’s quite saucy. I mean it might not be the type of saucy you would appreciate or, well, I don’t know."

"I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you." He nodded at the white box. "What’s that one?"

Jimmy shook his head. “Oh, eh, that’s nothing. Just something I needed.” He gave Thomas his change and took his leave.

"Thanks again, Jimmy," Thomas said after him. Thomas assumed the white box was a gift for a girl Thomas didn’t know about yet; likely one of the maids. Why Jimmy should be nervous about telling him, he had no earthly idea.


	3. Chapter 3

Back in his own room, Jimmy put the pocket watch away in his bureau and stood staring at the closed drawer, stroking his chin. It had seemed such a reasonable thing to do when he’d gone into the shop; replace the watch that Thomas had lost putting himself in harm’s way for Jimmy’s sake. But his impulsive decision to buy something much finer made him doubt himself in a way he couldn’t put into words even in his head. And when he’d seen that man shaking Thomas’s hand and leaning in close enough to arouse suspicion (if you already knew about Thomas’s proclivities), he’d felt…odd. Suddenly the gift seemed far too ostentatious. It made him nervous. Fortunately, Jimmy happened to know that Thomas’s birthday was in May. He knew this because Ivy had gotten all caught up in some astrology nonsense and demanded to know everyone’s birthday one night. May 13 was Thomas’s birthday as Jimmy recalled. He would give it to him then and it would make a fine gift. Yes, that made much more sense.

His door was open and Thomas peeked in. “Dinner.”

Jimmy followed him downstairs, debating the issue of the horse groom in his head. A horse groom, Jimmy thought, with not a little disgust. He probably smelled like horses. What if he did take up with Thomas? Then Thomas would smell like horses. And what if they were found out? It wouldn’t be the same as kissing a sleeping person against their will, but it would most definitely be a scandal. They would both be dismissed for sure. And what did Thomas even know about the man? Who could say if he was trustworthy? What if he knew about Thomas and was trying to lure him into a trap? Certainly, Thomas was much more likely to be as discreet as humanly possible given his past. But still. One couldn’t be too careful. It was a bad idea all around, even if there was nothing Jimmy could say about it. He certainly wasn’t going to tell a soul and he didn’t want to start a row.

If nothing else, he didn’t think the bloke was much to look at.

Thomas really could do better.

He was going over it all this in his head as he ate his stew, ignoring the chat around him until Thomas finally caught his eye and said, “What’s got you so quiet?”

"Nothin’." Jimmy shrugged and looked back down at his stew.

Later that night there was cards. Thomas and Jimmy sat across from each other at the table and played Honeymoon Bridge as Jimmy chatted on about the boring girl in Ripon.

"She was pretty," Jimmy said. "Dark hair. All the girls wear it short now. Blue eyes. No personality though. Kept going on and on about hats. Why should I want to talk about girls' hats?"

"Didn’t know you cared so much about personality," Thomas said, looking amused.

Jimmy was about to respond when Lizzie, the maid who’d replaced Edna, sat down next to him. She was working on a crossword and she asked him for help. She was as pretty as Edna and, to the relief of everyone downstairs, not at all interested in Tom Branson. She was very interested in Jimmy, on the other hand.

"Blimey, I dunno that sort of thing," Jimmy said. "Mr. Barrow would, he’s the smart one."

"No arguments here," Thomas said quickly.

Lizzie was obviously disappointed, but she read a clue from her magazine anyhow. “Breaker of rocks. Seven letters. It might start with an S.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”

Thomas squinted and stared at his cards. Finally, he said, “Stanley. As in Henry Morton Stanley.”

Jimmy smiled and said, “See?”

"Oh, yes that works," Lizzie said brightly. "Makes the other ones make sense now…"

"We’re playin’ cards though," Jimmy said. "Can’t concentrate."

"Well, excuse me!" Lizzie said, and flounced off.

"I suppose you have a problem with her too?" Thomas said as they continued to play. "I know she’s fetching. I’m not utterly blind."

"Too serious," Jimmy said. "I prefer a person who can take a joke. Or at least make one. Likes a good wind-up. That sort."

"I never knew you were so particular." Thomas said in a low voice. "Must be nice."

"How do you mean?" Jimmy said, trying to strategize his next hand.

"I mean  _you_  could have anyone you like,” Thomas said. “Don’t have to settle for whoever comes along that’s actually willing and not too scared to so much as say anything.”

The words bothered Jimmy deeply. It was an obvious point, but one he hadn’t seriously considered. He realized that the “eligible footmen” comment wasn’t much of a joke. Jimmy won the game and Thomas had lit a cigarette before they spoke again.

Finally Jimmy said, “You shouldn’t have to do that. It’s not fair.”

Thomas looked confused. “Shouldn’t have to do what?”

"Settle."


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Thomas was a bundle of nerves just thinking about his meeting with Eddie at the stables. Once he nearly spilled tea on the Dowager Countess, much to her amusement.

"Careful, Barrow," she scolded. "The earl may be Grey, but I should like my dress to remain white."

He smoked more than he ever usually did and was perpetually checking the clock. He lectured himself inwardly. He could still be under the wrong impression. Best to have no impression at all. Expect nothing, he told himself several times as he busied himself with whatever task he could find. Expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. After dinner he rushed off to his room to get ready. He wondered if a horse groom might like someone less fancy. He wet his hair a little, rinsing some of the pomade out and letting a forelock fall over his eye. Too much?

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he thought to himself stubbornly.  _Expect nothing._

He passed Jimmy on the way out, who looked aggravated. Jimmy knew where he was going and he still seemed worried by it. Thomas was a little touched.

He found Eddie waiting for him at the first stall of the stables. Eddie shook his hand again and Thomas tried valiantly not to read anything into it.

"Evening, Mr. Barrow," Eddie said.

"Evening, Eddie." Thomas glanced away, feeling shy.

Eddie started showing him around the stables; explaining about this or that mare or this or that stallion. Thomas wasn’t having a terrible time, but he was becoming progressively discouraged. Maybe Eddie simply didn’t know how he came across. Maybe he didn’t know about Thomas at all. Why would he? He didn’t mix with the inside servants much.

"Here’s the saddle room," Eddie said. The saddle room was hidden in the back corner of the stables. Eddie pushed open the heavy green door and let Thomas in. The room was big and warm, dimly lit by a couple of lanterns. The walls were lined with racks displaying all sort of saddles and horse blankets. Bridles hung all along the walls.

"Never even knew there was a saddle room," Thomas muttered. He was suddenly yet more nervous, alone in a room with Eddie. "But then, of course they would have."

"It’s my favorite room," Eddie said, his voice husky. "I’m usually the only that comes in here. I can be alone."

There was that hint again. Thomas didn’t know what to do with it. For lack of something better to say he just mumbled, “Must be rough work.” He couldn’t look at Eddie, he stared at a side-saddle instead.

"Oh, not really," Eddie said. He held his hands out, palms up, to show Thomas. "Couple callouses here and there but not so rough."

Thomas just nodded dumbly. “Oh.”

Eddie took Thomas’s hands in his and held them with the palms up. Thomas suddenly felt self-conscious about his glove. “Not like yours though. Can tell you work inside.” Thomas’s hands were trembling. He couldn’t help himself. What  _if_  he was still wrong, what  _if_  it was Jimmy all over again? “Soft skin,” Eddie said.

"Well, I-I mean," Thomas stuttered. "Th-there’s the war wound…"

Eddie stroked the palms of his hands and Thomas let out a long shaky breath.

"Mr. Barrow…" Eddie said. Thomas met his eyes, his heart thudding. He felt he was about to crack into pieces. It had been so  _long_. His damn hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Eddie whispered, “It’s alright, Mr. Barrow.”

A hand found Thomas’s cheek. The pad of a thumb pulled his bottom lip down slightly. Thomas gasped.

"It’s alright, Mr. Barrow," Eddie whispered again, leaning in. "It’s alright."

Eddie’s lips met his. Thomas let his eyes slip shut and his hands found Eddie’s waist, bunching the fabric of his shirt up in his hands, as if out of sheer frustration. It had been _too_  long. Thomas was eager and he prodded Eddie’s mouth open. Eddie was only too willing and walked him backwards against a wall of saddles as they kissed. Eddie shoved Thomas’s coat off his shoulders, and then his jacket. He attacked Thomas’s neck with kisses and tongue and Thomas ran his hands through the younger man’s hair. His tie was off without him even noticing and Eddie was making quick work of his shirt.

 _I love horse grooms_ , Thomas thought as Eddie kissed his way down his chest and fell to a kneeling position.  _My God, I love horse grooms._

When Eddie took him into his mouth, Thomas almost fell down. “Oh, God…” He was hard as stone and he didn’t think he would last very long. “Wait… I… Wait a minute.”

Eddie, on his knees, looked up at him and blinked. That was almost enough right there.

Thomas licked his lips and said, “I… Can I take you?” He breathed the words.

Eddie let him out of his mouth and smiled. He reached up and stroked Thomas’s chest. “Anything you like, Mr. Barrow. Anything at all.”

Eddie stood and grabbed a clean horse blanket, spreading it on the floor. Kneeling, they kissed again and Thomas took off Eddie’s shirt and unbuckled his jodhpurs, pulling them down. They weren’t even properly undressed before Eddie was on his stomach and Thomas crouched over him, prodding him with wet fingers and gently biting his back. When Thomas entered him, he almost wept, though he at least had the presence of mind to reach around and give Eddie his share of pleasure. Eddie gasped and reached back with one hand to muss Thomas’s hair. Thomas licked his neck and kissed his shoulder and thrust into him, the thick wool of the horse blanket scratching his knees. He didn’t last long but it wasn’t embarrassingly short either and when they had both found their release, they collapsed on top of each other, panting. They lay like that for a minute and then Thomas rolled on his back and thanked the gods again as Eddie propped himself up on one elbow, smiling shyly through a curtain of pale blonde fringe.

It took a minute for Thomas to find his breath and clear his head. Then he said, “Funny. I’ve still never touched a horse.”

"I guess it depends on what you mean by horse," Eddie said.

Thomas laughed and rolled his eyes at his own actions. “Under-butler,” he muttered. “Top butler more like.”

Eddie said, “Well, we’ll see what happens next time.”

Thomas’s head swam. “There can be a next time?”

"If you like. Think of a good hiding place. You can slip a note there of when you’re free. Late evenings, remember. I’ll check it everyday. Meet you here. If we have a mare birthing, I’ll leave you a note. But none are due until May."

Thomas couldn’t believe how easy this was. He thought he might be dreaming. He stared at the great shadows of saddles cast on the wood beams over his head and contemplated hiding spots. “There’s a yellow rose bush between here and the poplars behind the big house. You know the one?”

"I think so." Eddie rested his chin on his hand in a gesture that suddenly seemed fey.

"It’s quite out-of-place," Thomas said. "But Lady Sibyl liked it. Anyhow, there are a few flat stones around it in a circle. One of em’s pink. I could put notes under there. Can’t think of anything more out-of-the-way than that. But we won’t get personal on the notes, aye? To be safe."

"Perfect," Eddie agreed.

Eddie kissed his nipple and Thomas played with his hair.

"I should warn you, I don’t know how often I can get away. They keep us hopping, ya know."

"Oh, I know that." Eddie nibbled on his ear and whispered, "You’re not my first butler."

"Good Lord, Eddie," Thomas sighed, feigning shock.

"I’m no lord, Mr. Barrow." He kissed him just under his earlobe and Thomas gasped. "Just a horse groom."

"I think it’s fair to call me Thomas. In this room anyway."

"Alright, Thomas," Eddie whispered, meeting his lips in soft kisses. "Lovely Thomas."


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas was much too happy the next morning, and Jimmy was sure he knew why. So things had gone well. Apparently,  _very_ well. That was nice for Thomas and all. For now. But he was playing with fire and he knew better. If Thomas was dismissed, Jimmy would likely never see his best friend again and he didn’t have any family. Didn’t Thomas care about such things? Apparently not. He kept his tongue but glared at the under butler over his breakfast.

And for the love of all, a  _horse_  groom?

"Do you have a problem with Mr. Barrow, James?" Carson finally growled as Thomas looked up in surprise.

Jimmy grabbed a spoon and shoveled porridge into his mouth. “No, Mr. Carson.” He swallowed the porridge and it tasted like cardboard. “Just didn’t sleep well is all.”

"Mind you have some warm milk tonight then," Mrs. Hughes said.

"I will do," he agreed. He glanced up at Thomas who had already moved on to smiling into his own breakfast like an idiot.

"You look like you had a good sleep, Mr. Barrow," Ivy said brightly, setting down a platter of toast.

"I did. Thank you, Ivy," Thomas said. Thomas was being  _so_  nice it was making Jimmy sick. “Nothing like a good sleep and pleasant dreams to ready you for the day.”

"What did you dream of?" She blinked at him, all innocence.

"Horses," Thomas said, dry as a bone.

Jimmy almost choked on his porridge and Thomas looked like he was biting his lip to keep from laughing.

* * *

During the family’s breakfast, Jimmy stood at attention, stared straight ahead, and tried not to think about Thomas’s love life. Thankfully, the breakfast conversation was interesting enough to hold most of his interest.

"It’s not Paris I have a problem with," Lord Grantham said over his plate of kippers and potato. "It’s leaving Mary alone for such an extended period."

Lady Rose and Mr. Branson sat opposite Lord and Lady Grantham. Lady Rose looked jittery; she had hardly touched her food, while Mr. Branson ate and watched the proceedings with mild apprehension. Lady Mary, as always, had taken breakfast in her room. Lady Edith was in London. Lady Edith was nearly always in London.

"But that’s entirely the point, Robert," Lady Grantham said. " _I_ happen to think that a season away would do her a lot of good. Not Paris. Too many memories of the honeymoon. Italy is too political right now. Greece, perhaps. Or Spain. She refuses. She wants to stay home.”

"Then why must-"

"It’s you and I who are stifling her, my dear," Lady Grantham said, smiling sadly. "She needs time to herself. She says the more we try to help, the less she is able to breathe. And since she will not travel, we must. And I think we need it too."

Jimmy had made an art of watching the family without being caught. Lady Rose looked like she was about to explode. Jimmy got the impression that Lady Rose would be accompanying them to Paris, if Lord Grantham agreed to it. And she was waiting for her answer on pins and needles. He saw Lady Grantham shoot a look at Mr. Branson expectantly.

"I have everything in hand here," Mr. Branson said. "For the time being that is, according to what we planned after…"

Jimmy had noticed that among the family, hardly anyone mentioned Matthew’s death, as if it was too terrible to speak of. Mr. Branson just looked down at his tea.

"But you’ll be in Edinburgh with Sybbie," Lord Grantham said. "For-"

"Only a couple of weeks," Lady Grantham protested. "And Edith will come and go. And Grandmama and Isobel will be here to keep an eye on Mary."

"Are you certain this is what  _Mary_  wants?” Lord Grantham said.

Lady Grantham said, “She begged me to convince you.”

He sighed and rose an eyebrow at Lady Rose. “And I suppose you would accompany us?”

"If… If I’m invited." Lady Rose’s voice quavered.

"Heaven help us," Lord Grantham muttered. "Then I suppose we shall go to Paris."

Lady Rose emitted a squeal so sharp and high, Jimmy couldn’t help but grimace in pain. He saw Mr. Branson make a similar expression.

"Oh, thank goodness." Lady Grantham sighed in relief. "Miss O’Brien will be thrilled. I’m not so certain about Bates."

Lord Grantham nodded curtly and Jimmy looked away when his master glanced in his direction. “I don’t believe we’ll need any further staff though. I’m sure there’ll be sufficient help provided.”

Jimmy bit the inside of his cheek.

 _Subtle, my Lord_ , he thought.

* * *

It was an exhausting morning. There were more visitors even then usual. The problem with Mr. Branson’s progressive new way of holding so many meetings on the management of Downton in the house, was that people came to the front door who would normally go through the servant’s entrance. Yet they ate downstairs and exited out downstairs. Jimmy didn’t think it made much sense. It just led to a constantly ringing front bell and he suspected that Alfred was taking longer than usual on the silver to avoid answering it himself, even though it was his shift for the front door. Then a lamp in the dining room shorted out as he was changing the bulb and burned a whole right through his glove, not to mention which, it was fairly painful.  _Then_ he had to get Mr. Carson and Thomas to help him rearrange the lighting to make up the difference. Then he had to find a new glove.

At eleven o’clock tea in the servant’s hall, Jimmy said to Mr. Carson, “I believe I’m to relay a message to everyone, unless you’ve already heard about it, Mr. Carson.”

"How am I to know to  _what_ you’re referring unless you refer?” Carson fixed him with his usual disappointed frown.

He heard Thomas chuckle from the middle of the table. “Right. Well, Lord Grantham has agreed to take his Ladyship and Lady Rose to Paris for the spring.”

There were murmurs and oohs and ahs from the table and Carson held up a hand to quiet them. Miss O’Brien lit up like candles on a cake. It was a little frightening.

"I’m sure his Lordship will speak with me when their plans are finalized, James," Mr. Carson said, as if Jimmy had said something amiss.

"Yes, I know that," Jimmy said, struggling to maintain a contrite tone. "But he mentioned they wouldn’t need anyone else. I expect he doesn’t want to get hopes up downstairs."

At that, everyone looked slightly put out.

"Ah, I see." Mr. Carson smiled and gave him a single nod. Jimmy wasn’t even sure he recognized the gesture, but it looked something like admiration. "Quite right. In that case, well spotted."

Jimmy glanced at Thomas, who gave him a wink and he couldn’t help but grin.

Late that night over cards, Jimmy found himself worrying about the horse groom again. But before he could ask about it, Thomas spoke first.

"Well done catching that from his Lordship," Thomas said. He looked proud.

"Wasn’t nothin’," Jimmy said with a shrug. "Never got such a kind word from Mr. Carson before. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather."

"It’s the little things that matter," Thomas said. "Learning to read between the lines. You catch onto that, you’ll go far."

"You going to tell me about the stables?" Jimmy said.

Thomas’s eyes flicked over to Alfred and Ivy giggling at the end of the table and his mouth tightened around a fresh cigarette. He tipped his head towards the door.

"Outside," he said.

In the yard, Thomas smoothed back his hair and smirked down at Jimmy. “I don’t think you want the details.”

Jimmy made a pained face. “Ah, no. But… Well, is he nice?”

"Huh," Thomas chuckled. "A very nice man, papa. I shall bring him to tea, shan’t I? You can see for yourself if he’s a respectable man before the proposal."

"I’m just looking out for you," Jimmy grumbled. "Somebody has to do it."

Thomas looked away and took a casual step back, lighting his cigarette. “He’s perfectly nice. Not to worry.”

"I shouldn’t even ask," Jimmy said, leaning on the banister of the back steps. "You’re not always the best at reading people."

Thomas laughed breathily. “ _Touche._  We’ve worked it out. We have a place to leave notes and a place to meet no one ever goes at night. Quite convenient.”

It was late winter and the night air held a chill. Jimmy shuddered. He wasn’t wearing his coat. The back gate was open and a small shadow flickered on the wood slats in the moonlight. A brown rabbit hopped into the yard. Thomas didn’t see it- he was gazing down at this shoes. Jimmy knew he should say something. Mr. Carson wouldn’t like wild rabbits running loose so near the house. Instead he just watched it scamper around the coal pile as if searching. Its eyes flashed at Jimmy.

"If you get sacked, I’ll murder you," he said softly, and turned around to make his way to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days later, Thomas had a morning meeting with Mr. Carson and Bates concerning the needs of the family before the Paris trip. He hadn’t had a chance to leave a note for a second rendezvous with Eddie. He hoped the boy wouldn’t think he was being put off. He left Mr. Carson’s office and ordered Jimmy and Alfred to bring all the trunks in the attics downstairs for cleaning. Lady Grantham and Lady Rose wanted to see their dressmakers and talk about traveling clothes. The nanny was going with Mr. Branson and Miss Sybbie to Edinburgh and Lady Mary would need a girl for Mr. Mattie while they were gone. The shorted lamp in the dining room had not yet been replaced and the Dowager Countess had commented that the lighting made the footmen appear a bit demonic. A typical morning then. Thomas made a list in his head and figured that if he played his cards right he would have a half hour free after the family’s dinner. Just as luncheon was beginning he made off for the yellow rose and slipped his note under the stone, making certain he was unseen. There were two visitors at the house; Lady Fiona Tardley who was a friend of Lady Rose, and her cousin Miss Shipley. The Dowager was in attendance as well, no doubt bemused by the proclamations of young people. But the luncheon was light and Thomas had not been asked to serve. It was starting to drizzle outside and he just barely avoided becoming noticeably damp, taking care to wipe the mud from his shoes at the servant’s entrance.

He returned just in time to see a bell ringing from the Great Hall. Which was odd, because everyone was supposed to be at luncheon. There, he found Lady Mary waiting for him, and already wearing her coat and a cloche.

"Ah, Barrow," she said. "I’m taking flowers to Matthew and Sybil. Get your coat and an umbrella. And we’ll be stopping by the greenhouse. I’ll need my basket…"

"Yes, my lady," he said, just as Lady Grantham swept in.

"Mary! What’s the matter?"

"Nothing, momma," Mary said cooly. "I’m visiting Matthew and Sybil."

It still always took Thomas a moment, from the way Lady Mary always phrased it, to realize that “Matthew and Sybil” were graves and Mattie and Sybbie were children.

"What,  _now_? You walked right out of luncheon. We all thought you were ill.”

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Why don’t you wait for us? We can all-"

"Lady Fiona and whatever her name is don’t want to see the cemetery. I’m only making them sad. And I want to go alone. I’m just taking Barrow along."

Spending half his life in service had made Thomas used to not being thought of as company and he didn’t flinch.

"Barrow has better things to do than hold your umbrella," Lady Grantham sputtered. "It’s not his place."

"He doesn’t mind," Mary insisted. She appraised Thomas for a moment as if he were a dress in her closet. "He’s always had the look of a cemetery about him."

 _A lovely sentiment_ , he thought bitterly.

Thomas felt the clinch of a rock and a hard place and thought it better to defer to a widow.

"Of course I don’t mind, my lady," he said.

"There you are," Mary said to her mother.

"I can’t believe how rude you’re being," Lady Grantham said. "I’m at a loss for words."

"Then I’m sure the wit of conversation will increase ten-fold." Lady Mary turned her back to her gobsmacked mother who merely shook her head and left the room.

So much for mudless shoes. The drizzle was steady and Lady Mary was a swift walker. It took some effort to keep up with her, holding the umbrella up and trying not to get himself very wet as well, while holding her wicker basket. In the greenhouse, Mary picked out daffodils for Matthew and red tulips for Sybil. Thomas stood waiting patiently as Lady Mary paused over her handful of tulips and rain tapped the glass walls. The flower petals were closed up like they were keeping a great secret. She played her pale fingers along the blooms.

"Sybil was a tulip," she said suddenly. She smiled to herself. "Nothing so ostentatious as a rose. Nothing so silly as a pansy. She was bold. Her kindness, I mean, was so bold. Like a tulip."

Thomas swallowed and looked away. His heart was sore.

"I thought I had grieved for her," she said. "But after Matthew…" She sighed heavily and filled her basket with flowers. "Let us soldier on."

Lady Mary took ages to arrange her flowers on the graves, particularly Matthew’s. Thomas tried to follow her motions with the umbrella, but she finally waved him away. When she was finished, she stood and stared down at his name on the flat grey stone, taking a cigarette case from her coat pocket.

Thomas was shocked.

She gestured for him to bring the umbrella back and he stood close as she lit up.

"I know you smoke, Barrow. Why don’t you have one too?"

"Oh, I couldn’t, my lady."

"No, I insist. It’ll be our secret." She went so far as to take the umbrella while he lit his own cigarette. So Thomas found himself in the surreal position of sharing a smoke with Lady Mary in the cemetery. Pretty good considering she’d hadn’t considered him a person not fifteen minutes before.

She gazed out at the plots and stones, but her eyes seemed farther away as she spoke. “As awful as the war was, I don’t think I felt the breadth of its horror while it was going on. Even seeing all those wounded men in the house. Even when Matthew couldn’t walk… I was still a girl then. All I cared about was winning Matthew’s heart. Or being sure I hadn’t lost it. I prayed and I believed in God. I thought it all must have meaning. But now nothing means anything to me. He came back to me only to be taken again. It’s as if the world’s been tipped over all this time and I’ve just noticed.” She shook her head, but she wasn’t weeping. Thomas had never seen her cry for Matthew. He suspected she did so privately. “I would never claim to know what it was to be in those trenches as you do. To have seen all that death. But after Sybil and Matthew… I suppose it was my own kind of war. And I don’t know what it’s for. What can it mean? This house and these rules… Was all that death worth it just to dine in white tie? Just to have you hold my umbrella with that hand of yours?”

Thomas couldn’t bear to look at her. He stared down at the dewy grass, clenching in the umbrella with his mangled hand, and hoping she wouldn’t notice his red eyes. He took a puff on his cigarette.

"I feel I can’t connect to anyone. It’s all apologies and condolences. No one wants to speak of anything that’s real." She glanced at him and shook her head. "How you must hate us all."

"No, my lady-"

"Oh, don’t speak like that, Barrow," she said with force. "I beg you. I know I’m being impossible. Just tell me one thing you really feel. Tell me something that’s true. No one else will."

Thomas had never had a conversation like this with anyone from the family in his life. To speak this way seemed just as dangerous as meeting Eddie in the stables. But he was doing that, he thought. So why not this?

"I suppose," he started to say. "I suppose if nothing means anything… If the world’s tipped over… Then… Then just stuff em’ all and do what you like."

Mary’s mouth dropped open in surprise and she blinked at him. Then she laughed; so hard she covered her mouth and doubled over. Thomas just raised his eyebrows and hoped he hadn’t gone too far. She picked up her basket and tossed him a little smirk.

"I think I like you, Barrow. I don’t know that I’ve ever said it."

"Few have, my lady."

"I believe you and I might make some mischief while everyone is in Paris," she said mysteriously. "Dare I say it, we may even have fun."

"I don’t think Mr. Carson would approve of that," Thomas said.

"Then we shall have to keep Mr. Carson quite distracted."

In the saddle room, it was all straight to business. Thomas took Eddie on the horse blanket again and closed his eyes, imagining it was Jimmy beneath him, even though this man was far too tall. He thought of Jimmy’s eyes and easy grin gazing up at him.

_I’m just looking out for you. Somebody has to do it._

Afterwards, Thomas pulled up his trousers but lay back and rested his head on his arm as they smoked.

"Did you know about me?" Thomas said. "Or did you guess?" He had no idea whether or not rumor of his indiscretion with Jimmy had reached as far as the stables. He wouldn’t have thought so.

"It were something his Lordship said to Lord Lindsey," Eddie said. Thomas recalled that the Earl of Lindsey had visited a month ago with his wife. All he remembered of the visit was gossip that Lady Mary had said things to make them all uncomfortable. "Lady Lindsey wouldn’t ride and you were serving her tea in the garden when everyone else went on. Lord Lindsey said somethin’ about about not liking such a dashing butler with his wife. He were only jokin’. But his Lordship said you could be trusted with the ladies. It was the way he said it."

 _Thanks ever so much for the discretion_ , my Lord, Thomas thought.

Although, to be fair, comments like that had led to the occasional advance when Thomas had served as valet to visitors. It was amusing to think of what Lord Grantham’s reaction might be if he only knew how many times he’d been responsible for Thomas rogering the nobility. And it had led to Eddie.

"How long’s it been for you?" Eddie said. He cast Thomas a knowing look.

"Apologies if it’s that obvious," Thomas said around his cigarette. Sadly, it took him a minute to remember the last time. "When I was still his Lordship’s valet, I went with him to London. I got away for one night and wandered into a pub. There was an older man there, bit of a scholarly type. Not so bad looking really. He took me to his rooms. It was a proper hotel too. I felt like a courtesan. Then he asked me to read him poetry."

Eddie perked up, curling his lip. “Poetry? What for?”

"I suppose because he likes poetry," Thomas said simply. "It weren’t just that though. He had me sit starkers in a chair, reading, while he… Well, let’s just say I can’t imagine he had as much fun hearing the poetry as I had reading it. But I liked the poem. So he let me keep the book."

"I don’t go in much for poetry," Eddie mumbled, laying down on his back. "Do you remember it?"

In truth, Thomas had reread the poem more times than he could count and he had much of it memorized. There was something effecting about it. He was no scholar. He didn’t know what any of it was supposed to mean. But the words rolled and tossed about in his head at times and changed their meaning depending on his mood. Sometimes they troubled him or made him feel better or gave him a strange feeling he couldn’t explain.

"Bits and pieces," he said.

"Go on then," Eddie prodded.

Thomas hardly felt like reciting poetry, but it was odd that the story had come up. He’d been thinking of the poem after his conversation with Lady Mary. Something she’d said had reminded him of it. His good hand fidgeted with his cigarette. Jimmy knew a trick where he could flip a lit cigarette around in his fingers without burning himself. Thomas could only do it slowly. He contemplated the glowing tobacco as if it were an alien object.

"In the room the women come and go…talking of Michelangelo," he muttered.

Eddie chuckled and said, “ _What_?”

"I guess it’s supposed to be modern," Thomas said. "Enough poetry. I’ve meant to tell you, his Lord and Ladyship are taking Lady Rose to Paris for the season. They’re leaving in two weeks. And Mr. Branson’ll be going to Edinburg."

"Hmm." Eddie put his cigarette out in a can on the floor. "House’ll be awfully empty with only Lady Mary about."

Thomas sat up and stroked Eddie’s chest, leaning over to run his lips along that warm skin. “Empty excepting all that free time for the likes of us.”

Eddie ran a hand through Thomas’s hair, and again he pretended it was Jimmy.


	7. Chapter 7

Two weeks flew by. Thomas had visited Eddie four times already by Jimmy’s count. He told people he enjoyed a “nighttime walk,” but Jimmy was worried when he saw a couple of raised eyebrows about it in the servant’s hall. The night before, he’d pushed his luck. Mr. Carson had been looking for Thomas who’d returned looking ruffled. For his own part, Jimmy found himself increasingly aggravated when Thomas went out. He flirted halfheartedly with the girls and played solitaire at the table. But he missed his best mate and a few times he’d allowed himself to imagine what Thomas and the horse groom must do together and blood had rushed to his cheeks. He’d dropped a tray after a family dinner.

The day before the departure for Paris, Jimmy was ironing newspapers when Miss O’Brien slithered in. In hindsight, he could see how obvious it was that she’d manipulated him in the matter of the kiss. But ever since Thomas had been promoted, she’d kept her tongue for the most part. Thomas knew a secret about Miss O’Brien. He’d implied as much to Jimmy, but he wouldn’t say what it was.

"It’s my insurance, ya see," he’d said slyly one night. "Seems to be keeping the peace so far."

"Mr. Carson says you’re to help pack his Lordship’s things after breakfast," Miss O’Brien said. "And his traveling boots’ll need cleaning." Jimmy nodded in reply but Miss O’Brien didn’t leave. She eyed him with her usual feline appraisal. "You looked lonely last night."

"I wasn’t," Jimmy mumbled.

"Funny, Mr. Barrow goin’ on his little walks so often without you. Trouble in paradise?"

Jimmy stopped ironing and met her gaze. “Mr. Barrow is my friend. Not that you’d understand about that.”

"I understand all sorts of things when it comes to Mr. Barrow," Miss O’Brien countered. She clasped her hands behind her back. "They all call you Pip and Squeak, you know? Like in the comics. You two make such a lovely couple. Hope nothing’s come between you."

"This isn’t going to work again, Miss O’Brien. Not after all this time. I do enjoy Mr. Barrow’s company. I’m not ashamed to say it. So if you’ve got somethin’ actually worth hearing, come right out with it."

"It doesn’t make sense him helping you so much," she said. "It’s like he’s training his own replacement for his fall from grace. Though I guess that works out for you."

"He won’t have a fall," Jimmy said. "He’s doing nothing wrong."

"Of course, not," she said. She searched his eyes. Looking for weakness, Jimmy thought. "He’s gone soft. Soft as her Ladyship’s bed pillows. That’ll make it all the easier to stick the knife."

"Well, I know it won’t be you doing the knifing. Will it?"

Her smile tightened and she nodded at him. “Just sayin’ what I think.”

She turned to leave and stopped when Jimmy spoke. “Be careful in Paris, Miss O’Brien. We wouldn’t want you to fall into the Seine and drown to death.”

* * *

Jimmy had just sat down for a quick tea after scrubbing up the trunks when the bell rang for the drawing room. No one else was around and he sighed heavily. When he got there, he found Lady Mary dandling Mattie on her knee, and Lady Rose reading a letter.

"Yes, my lady?" He hoped he wasn’t sweating.

"I was hoping for Barrow," Lady Mary said, not unkindly. "Do you know where he is?"

"The trunk straps for the cars have all snapped," Jimmy said. "Mr. Barrow’s gone to Ripon to replace them. If it’s important, I’ll get Mr. Carson-"

"No, no. I was only going to pester him. We’re starved for entertainment," she admitted. Thomas had told him about his conversation with Lady Mary. He’d thought it very strange. "James, I’ve heard you play piano?"

"I do," Jimmy said, with a grin. "A bit."

Lady Rose looked up from her letter, her eyes big. “Do you know “Ain’t We Got Fun?”

Jimmy was about to answer that he did, when Mary said, “Heavens, Rose. Little early for that. You’ll be in Paris soon enough. But how about a rag or two? Do you know anything like that?”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. Lady Anstruther had often asked him to play and it had always made him feel special- different from the others. He’d never expected anyone in the family at Downton to ask, and certainly not a rag. Classical maybe.

"Yes," he said. "That is… Right now, my lady?"

"Why not?" Lady Mary said. "Everyone else is bustling about. Rose was packed a week ago and she says the minutes are crawling by."

"I think time’s stopped somehow," Lady Rose said. "I’d love to hear a rag!"

Jimmy nodded and strode over to the piano. He cracked his knuckles and started playing “The Entertainer” because people always seemed so delighted by it.

"Oh,  _lovely_!” Lady Rose chirped.

Jimmy had just gone into “Maple Leaf Rag” when the Dowager Countess’s voice said suddenly, “Good Lord!”

Jimmy stumbled to his feet and cleared his throat.

The Dowager towered in the doorway, clad in a draping purple frock and leaning on her stick. “I thought you were a gramophone.”

Jimmy wasn’t sure how to take that, so he just said, “Thank you, my lady.”

Rose said, “Isn’t he marvelous, Aunt Violet?”

The Dowager took a seat on the chaise lounge and said, “He’s a tragic loss to London’s music halls, I’m sure.”

She was sardonic, but Jimmy got the impression she secretly enjoyed it.

"We should always have footmen who can entertain," Mary remarked.

"Certainly. Perhaps while he serves dinner he can perform "Modern Major General.’" The Dowager gestured vaguely in his direction. "You may play, but let us hear something a little down tempo? If only for the sake of my digestion."

Jimmy started playing “Moonlight Sonata” and was sure he saw the Dowager smile in approval. When he was finished she rose to leave and he stood again.

"I believe the music has only served to make me pensive," she said. "I shall take a walk in the garden and contemplate the budding cherry blossoms."

He nodded and she took her leave. Rose looked at him in surprise. “She must like you.”

"Truly," Mary agreed. "I’ve never known her to say anything makes her pensive."

"Should I keep playing, my lady?"

"Yes. Or no," Mary said. She lit a cigarette and Rose uttered a little gasp. "Tell us some gossip, won’t you?"

Jimmy almost didn’t hear what she said. He was trying to remember if he’d ever seen a lady smoking in the house.

"Gossip?" Jimmy was not sure of his footing.

"Downstairs gossip," Mary said. "I’m bored to tears with our sort. Tell us what goes in your world. We won’t tell a soul. Will we, Rose?"

Lady Rose mimed buttoning her lips. Jimmy said,”Well, I mean, what sort of gossip?”

Lady Mary and Lady Rose exchanged knowing looks. “First things, who fancies who?”

"Oh, that’s easy," Jimmy said. "It used to be that Daisy fancied Alfred and Alfred fancied Ivy and Ivy fancied me."

"I’m sure they  _all_  fancy you,” Lady Mary said conspiratorally.

Jimmy did not deny it.

"Now it seems as if Daisy has given up on Alfred just as Alfred’s started to fancy Daisy. But he won’t tell her so. And Ivy flirts with Robby, he’s one of the hall boys. Then there’s Lizzie…" Jimmy sighed.

"Who does Lizzie fancy?" Lady Rose said.

"Me," Jimmy said.

"There you are," Lady Mary said, nodding at Lady Rose. "You haven’t said who  _you_  fancy, James.”

"Oh, I don’t fancy anyone."

Lady Mary tapped her cigarette. “But I’m sure you’re a terrible flirt, aren’t you?”

Jimmy knew enough to see when ladies wanted to be charmed and said, “I try to be, my lady.”

Lady Mary and Lady Rose rose their eyebrows and giggled in delight.

Lady Rose leaned forward, her eyes bugging out in interest. “And what about that Barrow? Between the two of you downstairs, there must be all sorts of trouble stirred up!”

Jimmy must’ve visibly paled because Lady Mary said, “Oh, dear. I’m afraid we’ve gone too far. Papa once mentioned some sort of indiscretion of Barrow’s that nearly got him sacked. But he wouldn’t say what. Apparently, I’m too  _fragile_.”

"Scandalous!" Lady Rose said.

Jimmy suddenly wished the house would catch on fire. Anything.

"Don’t worry, James," Lady Mary said. "We won’t put that on you. Barrow is a butler now. And above such nonsense. Isn’t he?"

Jimmy thought of the horse groom and nodded curtly. “Yes, my lady.”

* * *

"I just don’t see why she’s interested in us," Jimmy said to Thomas as they waited for the family dinner to be ready. "What should she care what goes on downstairs?"

Daisy was garnishing a sauce and piped up, “But we talk about them all the time.”

"That’s different, in’t?" Jimmy said. "They’re…rich."

"She’s bored," Thomas said, checking his old pocket watch. He puffed a breath on the glass face and polished it with his sleeve. "And sad. Can hardly see through this glass."

"So why don’t she read a book or something?" Jimmy said.

"It’s not that kind of bored," Thomas said. "She wants out of her own head. It’s like when you’re down here and everything’s the same all the time? Til you want to tear your hair out. Then all you’ve got is gossip and schemes. So you don’t have to think about all the other stuff."

Daisy waved a wooden spoon at Thomas. “You’re only talkin’ about yourself and Miss O’Brien!”

Thomas said, “Daisy, have I not paid you enough this week to speak highly of me?” He took a coin from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Have another pence.”

Daisy said, “Mr. Barrow’s an honorable man and I’ll not say anythin’ different!”

"At’s more like it. How long have we got?"

"Five minutes for the lamb."

Thomas huffed and said, “Then I’ll take up more wine.” He whipped around and stalked off to the wine stores.

"Can’t believe how different he is," Daisy said, stirring a sauce. "We ought to make you a cake every Sunday."

"Why? What’ve I done?" Jimmy said.

"Ever since you’ve got here, he’s turned right upside down. Everyone used to hate him. He’s not so bad now. Just a bit funny."

"He’s funny alright," Jimmy mumbled.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

"I think that’s it then," Mr. Carson said, rising from his office chair. Thomas and Bates stood. Departure for Paris was imminent and they’d just been going over last minute details. "Mr. Bates, I trust you’re excited for your trip?"

"Yes," Bates said hesitantly. "Somewhat. But it will be hard to be away from Anna."

"We’ll look after her," Thomas said, straightening his shirt. "Won’t we, Mr. Carson?"

"Of course," Mr. Carson grumbled, striding into the hall.

Mr. Bates eyed Thomas warily. Even as so much time had passed, Thomas didn’t usually exchange more than civilities with Bates outside of work talk.

"I meant that," Thomas said.

Bates said, “I confess, I’m still never certain with you. Old grudges die hard.”

"I didn’t think saints held grudges."

"I’m no saint. Just a reformed man. But you wouldn’t know anything about that. Or would you?" Thomas might’ve changed, but he still couldn’t quite stand it when Bates looked smug.

"As the Dowager Countess might say, I’m no reformer."

"Well, your distance from Miss O’Brien speaks well for your character."

"As much distance as I can manage," Thomas said. Bates was to about leave when Thomas put a hand on his elbow to stop him. He looked expectantly at Thomas, who grimaced, almost annoyed with himself. "I’ve never thanked you…for intervening when I was meant to be dismissed."

Bates looked amused. “If I’d done what I’d intended, you would’ve been.”

"Yes, well nevertheless…"

"So?" Bates prodded.

Thomas just rose his eyebrows.

"You still haven’t thanked me," Bates pointed out.

"One day at a time, Mr. Bates," Thomas said smoothly, but he smiled. "Good morning."

* * *

Thomas stood by a stack of empty fish crates, smoking. Jimmy seemed fidgety. Thomas thought he’d seemed rather fidgety since he’d taken up with Eddie, but he tried not to think about it too much. Better to leave that. Miss O’Brien was across the yard, smoking by herself.

"Look at her," Thomas chortled. "All alone with her curls."

"She was tryin’ to stir up trouble yesterday," Jimmy said. He crossed his arms and sent a glare in her direction.

"Does she know anything?"

"I don’t think so. Just fishing for chum."

"Let her natter on," Thomas said, putting out his cigarette. "She can’t do a thing against me. She knows her place and no mistake."

"Did you really used to be as bad as her?" Jimmy said.

"Who says I’m still not?" Thomas said haughtily.

"Everybody," Jimmy said with a shrug.

"I should put down the hammer. Can’t have everyone thinkin’ I’m a softie."

"Too late for that. They all like you now."

"And you?" Thomas said.

"Oh, I think you’re a right bastard," Jimmy said.

"Glocky begger." He caught sight of Miss O’Brien rolling her eyes as she went inside and had an urge to stick out his tongue.

"You’ve got a thread hanging…" Jimmy grabbed his arm and snapped a loose thread from his sleeve. Jimmy was touching his hand. Thomas pulled away but Jimmy gripped his wrist. "You should mend the hem."

He yanked his arm back. “I  _know_.”

Jimmy looked pained. No. It must’ve been his imagination. “You’re a funny one,” Jimmy muttered, trotting back inside.

* * *

Thomas was exhausted. He sat in the servant’s hall late that night, empty except for Daisy who was cleaning up the tea things. Even Jimmy had gone off to bed, but Thomas had only just finished turning out the lights. Who knew the simple act of people leaving a house could be so tiring?

"I’m knackered," he muttered.

"Then go to bed," Daisy said simply.

"I’m too tired to sleep," he said. "That’s the worst kind. I was goin’ to go for a walk, no chance of that now."

"A walk at this hour?" Daisy laughed. "What are you like?"

He rubbed his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

"Come to the kitchen," she said. "I’ll make ya some warm milk."

"I don’t need-"

"Come on, Mr. Barrow." She pulled on his arm.

In the kitchen, he leaned on the counter as she bustled about.

"How’re you getting on with Alfred?" He asked.

"I’m not," she huffed. "Don’t stir the pot."

"I’m not stirrin’ nothin’," he insisted. "I think he fancies you. Jimmy thinks so too."

"It’s impossible."

She handed him a biscuit and he took a bite. “Why’s that?” He said with his mouth full.

"He’s got Ivy and Lizzie around. He wouldn’t look twice at me." She gave him a knowing look. "And I always fancy the  _wrong_ ones.”

Thomas swallowed and said, “I think I’m offended.”

"Good. You should be." She poured milk into a saucepan. "Besides, I don’t deserve Alfred. I should’ve fancied William and I didn’t. Now I’m cursed."

"You’re mad," Thomas said simply. "Even if you’d liked him, you’d still be a widow. And there was a war on then."

Daisy stirred the milk but he could sense her frown. “What’s that to do with it?”

"Nothin’." He rested his chin in his hand on the counter. If he could just lie down in the kitchen, things would be lovely. "And if we all got what we deserved, it’d be me who died in the war."

Daisy spun around and blinked at him over her dripping spoon. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said softly. “It’s bad luck.”

"It’s true."

She set down her spoon and leaned on the counter across from him. “Don’t go feelin’ sorry for yourself. I’ll set Mrs. Hughes on ya. Besides… I forgive ya.”

Thomas pretended to look surprised. “Oh? What’ve you got to forgive me for?”

"Ah!" Daisy shoved his arm. "For pretendin’ to fancy me! You knew I was sprung on you."

"How do you know I didn’t fancy you?" He said innocently.

"You’d be more like to fancy Mr. Branson, wouldn’t you?" Daisy had learned to smirk.

Thomas couldn’t recall ever being shocked by something Daisy had said. But she had him there. “When did you-“

"Anna told me," she said. "Mrs. Patmore tried to tell me ages ago, but I didn’t know what she meant. It were always, he’s not the man for you, Daisy. Thomas drinks from another teacup, Daisy. What’s the difference what teacup you drink from? Anna just said Thomas fancies boys. Why couldn’t Mrs. Patmore’ve just that in the first place?"

"She thought you wouldn’t understand," Thomas said.

"I don’t really. But you fancy who ya fancy, don’t ya? That’s the whole problem, in’t?"

Thomas sighed and gave a her single nod. “That’s the rub alright.”

"So…" Daisy whispered. "Who do you fancy?"

“ _Nobody_ ,” Thomas said darkly.

"Excuse me for livin’." She tapped her fingers on the counter and grinned, sticking her tongue out through her teeth. "I think Jimmy fancies you."

_Oh, dear._

Thomas stood up straight and fixed Daisy with his most authoritative glare. “No, he doesn’t. And you mustn’t say that to anybody. Especially Jimmy. He wouldn’t like it. He likes girls.”

"I wouldn’t say a word!" Daisy said, returning to her saucepan. "Except to you. But he doesn’t fancy any girl here. He flirts, but he doesn’t mean it. And when you go on your walks all he does is complain about you goin’ off by yourself. And it’s always Mr. Barrow said this, Mr. Barrow said that. I’m not  _that_  dull.”

"No," Thomas said as she poured milk into two mugs. "I suppose you’re not."

"I hope you do find somebody who fancies you back, Mr. Barrow," Daisy said. "Everybody deserves love. Even you."

He took a long gulp of warm milk. It really was oddly comforting. “And I hope you soon realize that Alfred’s mad for you.”

She grabbed her spoon again. “Don’t make trouble!”

He put his hands up in defense and smiled. A fond memory flitted through his mind.

"Daisy!" He put his arms out like claws and made a funny face.

"The Grizzly Bear!" Daisy clapped and took his hand. They danced for a bit until Mr. Carson came around to send them off to bed. And Thomas thought he looked very secretly pleased.

* * *

"I suppose the peonies won’t be in for a while yet." Lady Mary said. Thomas walked beside her in the gardens. Mr. Branson had left for Edinburgh two days before and she now officially had the house to herself and Little Mattie. The sky was clear as a bell and fresh flowers had been laid at Matthew and Sybil’s graves that morning, but after her lunch she had claimed to "require his conversation."

"I do love peonies…" She pulled on the drooping branch of a willow as they walked under it. "James was telling me about all the melodramas downstairs."

"I’ve heard as much," Thomas admitted. She had insisted he speak casually.

He was not used to this yet.

"Only upon interrogation," Lady Mary said. "Tell me, is there any progress in the great romance of Alfred and Daisy?"

"I wouldn’t call it a great romance. They both fancy each other and neither will say a word about it."

The grass was green and lush for spring. Things were blooming and it was nice to take a walk without having to worry about setting out tables and getting tea ready for visitors.

"That’s how all the great romances start," Lady Mary said. "And what about you?"

"I’m not much of a lady’s man," Thomas said sheepishly.

"Oh, I know that," Lady Mary said. "Edith once told me she was sure you were… What do they call it? A confirmed bachelor?"

_Can’t anyone in this house keep their trap shut?_  Thomas thought. He wondered if they’d had it posted in  _The Sketch_.

He didn’t say anything, he was so astonished. He just stood under the Weeping Willow, nonplussed.

"I won’t tell Lady Rose," Lady Mary said. "She’d be crushed. She thinks either you or James have hung the moon, depending on the day."

"Nice to know I’m in the running," he muttered. One didn’t mutter in front of a lady. But Lady Mary only shrugged.  
"I’ve decided to go to London for a couple of days," she announced. "Lady Edith thinks I’m becoming a homebody. She wants to take me to some nightclub full of intellectuals she’s discovered. I think she’s trying to be nice."

"I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself, my lady." He said.

"I will. Because I’m bringing you with me."

Thomas really wasn’t sure what she meant.

"I see. And you’re bringing a party along," he said, thinking out loud. "The Dowager Countess and-"

"Oh, heaven’s no. It will be you, me, and Anna. Just for a few days. I thought I’d try on a different skin."

"You want to bring  _me_?” A butler accompanying a lady alone. That was…not usual. To say the least.

"I want to put off curious men. The best way to do that is to bring a man with you. I could find a more appropriate escort, but they wouldn’t be required to do as a I say. Besides, it was you who said I should do what I like." She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. She was smiling but he could see her wide brown eyes under the brim of her cloche, and they were dim. "And I shall. Crikey, it’s 1922. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even worn a corset?"

He needed a cigarette, but he daren’t suggest it to Lady Mary. Even if she did appear to be utterly off her rocker.


	9. Chapter 9

Sometimes, when he wasn’t paying attention to his own mind, Jimmy imagined Thomas in his room. There was nothing untoward or scandalous about it. In his vision, he opened Thomas’s door at night and saw him lying on his bed, looking up from a book to gaze at him with cool expectation. That was all. Jimmy didn’t know what happened next, but the thought filled him with anxiety and he argued with himself.

_Why should I be bothered? I’m not thinking anything wrong. I’m not going to_ do _anything wrong. It’s because I’m friends with Thomas is all. And everyone imagines strange things from time to time._

He took a deep breath, striding down the hall to the kitchens. The Dowager and Lady Rosamund had come for dinner. He wiped his mouth. Daisy had made peach preserves and he would’ve drained a whole jar if he’d been allowed. He still felt a bit sticky.

Alfred was towering over Daisy as she poured sauce into silver dishes.

"Did you use saffron in the chicken?" Alfred said.

"Mrs. Patmore did," she said, surprised. "How do ya know that? It’s not even in the recipe."

"I can smell it," he said proudly.

"You can’t have done. There’s hardly any!"

"I did."

They made eyes at each other for the briefest moment before she spun around and dashed to the stove. Jimmy whispered to Alfred, “I don’t see how it’s goin’ to work? It’d take you three days just to get down low enough to kiss her.”

Alfred casually smacked him on the back of the head.

"Ouch," Jimmy said.

"There’ll be no physical abuse in the kitchen unless it’s me doing the abusing," Thomas said, walking in with a silver tray. "They’re still in the drawing room."

"But it’s dinner! Mr. Carson’s rung the gong!" Mrs. Patmore said from behind Daisy. "I can’t simmer forever!"

"I don’t believe Lady Mary is interested in keeping to a schedule anymore." Thomas handed the tray to Alfred and said, "Tell Mr. Carson the soup is about to scorch and see if you can get away with collecting drinks."

Jimmy was staring blankly at the stove, trying not to think about Thomas in his room. Thomas glanced at him and did a little double take.

"Have you been at the jam?" He reached over and rubbed a spot of peach preserves off the corner of Jimmy’s mouth with his thumb and then immediately snatched his hand back. "Sorry, Jimmy," he mumbled, and all but ran down the hall.

* * *

"I’d love to have you at Eaton," Lady Rosamund said. "What are your plans?"

Jimmy held the chicken and waited for the Dowager to serve herself. He could still feel Thomas’s touch near his mouth and it was worse than before. When Thomas had made his advances so long ago, it had felt terribly uncomfortable and made him want to run screaming. When he’d touched his mouth in the kitchen, he’d wanted to run screaming. But he wouldn’t have described it as uncomfortable.

_He opened the door and saw Thomas lying on the bed, looking up over his book, and smiling._

"Clubs," Mary said. "Music. Theater perhaps. A taste of culture."

"I think that’s a wonderful idea," Lady Rosamund said encouragingly. A little too encouragingly. Mary gave her a knowing expression. "I know the sort of slough you’re in, my dear. Some sophistication, some excitement… It could be just the thing to make life a bit less swampy."

The Dowager said, “You make it sound as if she’s been taken hostage on the Thames by Mole and Badger.”

"Just remember how pleased you are right now," Mary said wryly. "I’m taking our man, Barrow, along with me."

Jimmy looked up sharply and frowned as he set the chicken back on the sideboard. He glanced at Carson, standing in front of the wine, who looked a fright.

"Forgetting the obvious, why in heavens do you require an under butler for three days at Eaton Square?" The Dowager fixed Mary with a wary gaze.

"Because I want to dissuade men, curious about the recently widowed heiress," Mary said.

"That is understandable," the elder Lady Grantham said with a nod. "I can think of three gentlemen off the top of my head who would fit the bill precisely."

"Well, I can’t think of anyone whose company I might enjoy," Lady Mary insisted. "And I don’t want to worry about…manners."

There was a thump. Mr. Carson had dropped a bottle of wine on the floor.

"My apologies," he said.

"I don’t think Carson approves," Lady Mary said.

"No, I do not. If I’m being asked."

"It’s not uncommon," Lady Rosamund said. "I’ve heard of a few ladies outside my circle who’ve done the same."

"I’ve heard there are men who run with the bulls in Pamplona," the Dowager said. "But I would not suggest Mary try it."

"Not in these shoes," Lady Mary said.

Lady Rosamund seemed to be trying to keep the peace. “To be honest, I’ve considered it myself.”

"You see?" Lady Mary said, with a little wave of her fork.

"No offense to our dear Barrow," the Dowager said. "But he cannot pass for a gentleman. Can he, Carson?"

"Most decidedly not, my lady," Mr. Carson said.

Jimmy glared at Mr. Carson who responded with a jutted chin.

"That’s not a problem," Lady Mary said. "I don’t expect I’ll be in the company of many gentlemen."

"Oh, my God," Mr. Carson muttered to himself.

Jimmy tried to contain his smirk.

* * *

For the life of him, Jimmy couldn’t find Thomas after dinner. Not that he actually needed him for anything. But he had a strong urge to let the man know that things were alright between them. Yet Thomas had somehow managed to make himself both present and invisible. Everywhere he went, someone said Jimmy had just missed him. He was shouted at twice for slacking. He helped with dishes until his hands were raw and red and headed to the servant’s hall, just in time for Thomas to announce he was going “for a walk,” with a nervous glance in Jimmy’s direction.

This made him unaccountably angry.

"Where do you s’pose he goes?" Alfred said.

"It’s none of our business," Anna said. But she looked like she knew something. That wasn’t good.

Ivy said, “If it’s none of our business, that’s make it sound like he’s doing somethin’ wrong.”

"He’s not," Jimmy said quickly. "He just likes a walk. Some fresh air. That’s all."

He half expected Miss O’Brien to make a crack, until he remembered she was in Paris. But maybe Miss O’Brien wasn’t needed to make trouble. Ivy, Alfred, and even Anna all looked far too curious.

"I think I’ll join him," Jimmy said abruptly, standing up.

"It looks like rain," Anna said, with some alarm.

"Then Mr. Barrow’ll be needing a brolly, won’t he?" Jimmy went to fetch an umbrella at the door, but not finding one and wanting to get outside in to the air, he gave up.

He didn’t have a plan, outside of following Thomas. Because this was going too far and people were getting suspicious. He was lucky no one else had decided to come along.

He headed in the direction of the stables, since Eddie was a horse groom after all. He caught a glimpse of Thomas once he passed the Poplars and just as he did, it started raining. It was cold and starting to drizzle. He wondered if he was making it worse. Now instead of the others being suspicious of Thomas, they might be suspicious of him too and think they were both off together; doing something…unnatural. He hid behind a tree and saw Thomas disappear into the stables. He couldn’t deny that he had some curiosity as to what could possibly be so important to make Thomas take such a risk. Was he in love with Eddie?

Jimmy waited, getting progressively wetter. He spent far too much time in the rain, trying to decide what to do. His livery was getting soaked.

_He opened the door and there Thomas was on his bed, reading one of the books Jimmy had brought back from Ripon._

_“Jimmy?”_

If only to get out of the rain, he ran to the stables and then paused at the doors, pushing his damp hair off his forehead.

_I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s not wrong just to see what it is._

He prodded the stable door open and crept inside, the strong smell of hay and horses hitting him. The place was long and narrow; horse stalls on either side of a stone aisle littered with bits of hey and racks of horse shoes. It was dark and he could only see by the moonlight. The rain was troubling the horses. Some of them slept and other snuffled and whinnied. At the end of the aisle there was light coming through the crack of a green door. He walked slowly and tried not to make a sound. He heard faint noises as he neared. By the time he reached the door, he wasn’t even thinking of what he would see, he was only afraid he would be found out, and Thomas would be angry. The door was only open a crack. He swallowed and pulled at the edge, gently with two fingers, peering inside.

They were naked and standing. Eddie was braced against a rack of saddles and Thomas was behind, thrusting into him. Thomas’s arms were wrapped around Eddie, scratching lightly at his chest and clutching his shoulders. He kissed and bit at Eddie’s skin, his dark hair hanging over his eyes as rain, leaking through cracks in roof, ran down his back, in rivulets between his shoulder blades. One hand snaked down to take Eddie in his hand and his thrusts became harder, their grunts and moans louder. Jimmy felt himself harden and he was hot, far too hot.

Eddie turned his head and looked in Jimmy’s direction. His eyes widened and then he grinned right at Jimmy.

Jimmy jumped and took a step back. He turned away and ran on light feet, back through the rain to the house. He didn’t stop until he was in his room, even to say a word to Mrs. Hughes who balked at his having run about in the rain and said he would catch his death. He was too loud and Alfred woke up.

"What’ve you been at?" Alfred said, rubbing his eyes.

Jimmy was soaking wet and trembling. “Nothin’. Nothin’, go back to sleep.”

Alfred rolled over and Jimmy tore off his drenched clothes. In a dry pair of pajamas, he stood over the wash basin and avoided the mirror. He couldn’t catch his breath. He closed his eyes and saw Thomas, naked, the rain sliding down his skin, his lips swollen and red, kissing and kissing. He saw himself in Eddie’s place, Thomas thrusting into him and he hardened in his trousers.

In bed he took himself in hand and didn’t sleep a wink.


	10. Chapter 10

"I’m going to London," Thomas said, smirking to himself and smoking next to Eddie on the horse blanket.

"Goin’ to have see about these leaks…" Eddie sighed and glared at the rain dripping from between the wooden beams. "With who?"

"Lady Mary," he said mysteriously.

"And…?"

"Just Lady Mary. And her maid."

"Blimey," Eddie said chortling. "That’s goin’ to get round."

"It’s a new world, sure enough," Thomas said, taking a puff.

Eddie rolled over on his side, leaning on his elbow. “Who’s the blonde bloke in the big house? The footman who looks like a film actor?”

Thomas felt a jolt of possessiveness for Jimmy and his head jerked, looking at Eddie. “That’s Jimmy. James rather. Don’t go getting any ideas. He’s not our sort.” He put his cigarette out in the can.

"Just askin’. You two mates?"

"Yes." Thomas abruptly decided it was about to be putting his clothes on and sat up. "He’s a bit like my protegé, I ‘spose."

"Is that what they call it now?"

Thomas got to his feet, suddenly angry. “It’s not like that. I’ve just told you, he’s not our sort.” He put his trousers on and looked around for his socks and shoes.

Eddie laughed. “Bet you wish he was though, don’t ya? I would.”

He put on his shirt and his jacket. “Thought were weren’t going to get personal.”

"Look at you…" Eddie shook his head and sat up as Thomas put his shoes on and tried to compose himself. "Must be love."

"I’m looking forward to London," Thomas said quickly. "Maybe I’ll find another scholar who likes poetry."

Eddie looked genuinely puzzled. “Am I supposed to be jealous?”

"You’re not supposed to be anything," Thomas said, straightening his tie. "And you aren’t."

He didn’t say goodnight when he left.

On his way back to the house, he suddenly wished he wasn’t going to London. What if Eddie bothered Jimmy while he was gone? The horse groom was good for a roll in the hay, so to speak, but Thomas didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Maybe he should warn Jimmy about it. That would be…awkward. And he still felt funny about the jam incident. He’d tried to be so careful about touching Jimmy, but they’d gotten close and things had become casual between them.

In the servants’ hall, Mrs. Hughes gave him the eye. “And where have  _you_  been? You’re soaked to the bone.”

"Nowhere. Just walkin’ about." He shrugged. "I like walking in the rain. It’s poetic."

"Well, that’s very nice, Mr. Wordsworth. But you and James are going to get pneumonia with all your poetry."

He paused on his way to the hall and turned back, frowning. “Jimmy? What’re you on about?”

"He went out," she sighed. "To find you. Came back in a state like he’d been swimming the English Channel."

Well, that was odd. Thomas tapped his fingers on the wall, trying to suss it out, before he gave up and went off to bed.

* * *

At breakfast, Jimmy looked drawn and quartered. He hadn’t touched his toast. Thomas was worried. It was the about the jam, he was sure of it.

"What’s the matter with you?" Alfred said.

"Nothin’," Jimmy muttered.

"It’s all that flitting about in bad weather," Mrs. Hughes said wisely. "I’m sure you’re ill. You look like you haven’t slept in a week."

"I’m fine," Jimmy said, with a placating smile.

"What about you, Mr. Barrow?" Mrs. Hughes said. "We wouldn’t want you to be unwell for your trip to London."

"No, we wouldn’t want  _that_ ,” Mr. Carson said.

"I’m quite well, Mrs. Hughes." Thomas said, before taking a sip of coffee. "I think you’re right though. Perhaps those evening walks have lost their charm."

"Didn’t think that was possible," Jimmy mumbled.

Thomas almost choked on his toast.

Everyone at the table eyed Jimmy, looking befuddled, except Anna who was smirking.

Jimmy said, “Do you think some of us might have an afternoon off after Lady Mary leaves for London?”

“ _Some_  of you?” Mr. Carson said, raising an eyebrow.

"Ivy and me. I thought we might go to Thirsk. See the…eh, shops." Lizzie squeaked from her side of the table. Jimmy said, "I mean, I haven’t asked her yet."

Ivy swept in with a kettle of tea and everyone looked at her.

"What’ve I done?" She said warily.

Jimmy said, “Ivy, would you like to go to Thirsk with me?”

"I haven’t said yes yet," Mr. Carson pointed out.

Everyone looked at Mr. Carson.

"Very well," he relented. "After the table linens have all been pressed.  _All_  of them. And only if Mrs. Patmore agrees she can spare you, Ivy. I’m sure she will.”

"Thanks, Mr. Carson." Jimmy smiled tightly and took a tentative bite of toast. He looked like he was forcing himself to eat cardboard.

"I haven’t said yes yet either!" Ivy said, setting down the kettle.

"Oh," Jimmy said. "Sorry, Ivy."

"Well… I won’t turn down an afternoon off." She shrugged and made her way back to the kitchen. Everyone chuckled.

Thomas was surprised, but he tried not to feel too put out. Jimmy was going to find a girl eventually. He was a little startled that it was Ivy. Jimmy hadn’t shown the slightest bit of real interest in her before and he was certain Ivy hadn’t fancied him for ages. Or maybe they were just better friends than he had thought. It was curious.

* * *

Thomas spent the hours after Lady Mary’s breakfast inspecting the bedrooms. He was disgruntled to find Mr. Branson’s dressing room in a terrible state and spent the time organizing it himself. The man didn’t have a valet, so what could be expected? He found Jimmy polishing silver when he came back down and stopped into the room, hovering at the door.

"Were you looking for me last night?" Thomas said.

"I- No, not really. What’ve you heard?"

"I haven’t heard anything," Thomas said, frowning. "What’s there to hear?"

"Nothing." He kept polishing the same spot of a goblet and wouldn’t look at Thomas. "I just went walking."

"Well, what’s the bother then?’ Thomas crossed his arms. "You can tell me, whatever it is."

"There’s no bother," he insisted. He glanced up and seemed almost surprised to see Thomas standing there. "Why’s everyone got to be in everyone’s affairs all the time? Can I not have somethin’ to myself?"

"Right," Thomas said slowly. "Look, if it’s about the jam yesterday, I-I didn’t mean to. I mean, I’m sorry-"

"It’s not about the bloody jam! It’s not your fault, you haven’t done anything!"

Mr. Carson appeared behind Thomas. “What is this ruckus!”

Jimmy huffed and went back to polishing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carson.”

"Girl trouble, I think," Thomas said smoothly. "You know how it is with young people."

"I grow old, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson said. "I know less and less about the young, happily."

"You shall wear the bottoms of your trousers rolled," Thomas said with a nod.

"I’m sorry?"

"T.S. Eliot, Mr. Carson." Thomas smiled but glanced at Jimmy, who still seemed upset.

"Well, if T.S. Eliot has any experience as a first footman, perhaps you should send him our way." Mr. Carson left a with a passing glare at Jimmy.

"One more thing," Thomas said to Jimmy, "if you’re done takin’ my head off." He took a hesitant step closer and spoke softly. "Watch out for Eddie."

Jimmy stopped polishing again and his head snapped up in alarm. “Eddie? Why?”

"I think he’s got a bit of an eye for you," Thomas said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

"But he’s with you," Jimmy said.

"Yes, but not like  _that._ We don’t spend all that time together talkin’. It’s just a fling.” Jimmy turned a brilliant shade of red. “I’m just saying, keep your distance from the stables.”

"Definitely useful advice," Jimmy said with a snort.

"And have fun with Ivy, ya devil." He smiled on his way out.

* * *

The sun was bright again, and Thomas was pouring Lady Mary a cup of tea in the garden.

"Fascinating," Lady Mary said. "But James told Rose and I he didn’t like anyone downstairs."

"It surprised me too," Thomas said, standing by, his hands clasped behind him. "But he’s been playing his cards close, I think."

"Well, I hope he’s not toying with Ivy," Lady Mary said, tapping the ashes of her cigarette. "I should know. I’ve done my share of toying."

"He was all out of sorts this morning. Looked like love troubles to me."

Lady Mary glanced up at him and rolled her eyes. “Sit down and have a cigarette, Barrow.”

Thomas squinted and looked around. “Someone might see.”

"I don’t mind if they do," Lady Mary said. "Besides, it’s good practice for London. I can’t have you acting like a butler there."

Thomas sat as if the chair were made of dynamite, and tugged on his trousers. “About that… I’m not sure what it is you’re expecting of me.”

"Just be your usual charming self," Lady Mary said. Thomas raised his eyebrows. He’d been called a lot of things. Charming had never been one of them. "And if anyone asks, you’re a suitor."

"Blimey," he muttered. "You don’t want much, do you?"

Lady Mary smiled approvingly. She seemed to like it the more casually he spoke.

"I want to shake things up." She looked away at the rose bushes and blew a puff of smoke. "I want to feel like someone else for a while."

"If I’m pretending to court you, I know  _I’ll_  feel like someone else,” Thomas said, lighting his own cigarette. “In more than one way.”

"You’ll do fine, Barrow."

"And how are you? If you don’t mind me asking." He sat back but still glanced around, feeling a little paranoid. He kept expecting Carson to show up and read him the riot act.

"One day bleeds into the next," she said softly. "I don’t know what to do with myself most of the time. Lady Grantham, that is, Grannie… She would say I should do charity work or something. But I think what I want is a different kind of life. The old one has ended so utterly."

Thomas nodded, fidgeting with his cigarette. “When the war ended, I thought about leavin’ service, ya know. I was going to be a proper businessman.”

"Really? What sort of business?"

"I hope you’re not shocked, but it was the black market. ‘Cept I brought a bunch of rubbish. I lost everything."

"My God… That must’ve been so hard. And it might not be proper of me to say either, but the black market wasn’t a bad idea for a man in your position."

"All I mean is, I wanted a different life too. Because the world had ended. Seemed like a good time to try a new one."

"Now you’ve got it," Lady Mary said, smiling sadly.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

"S’pose it’s easy for them to start over," Jimmy said, trying to figure his next hand of cards. "All ya need is money really."

"There’s truth in that," Thomas said, tapping on the servants’ hall table. "But I didn’t think m’lady would want to hear it."

"You really lost  _all_  your money? I didn’t know.” Jimmy had tried to avoid Thomas but it hadn’t really worked. He kept finding himself seeking him out, almost against his will. Some part of his mind locked up the memory of Thomas and Eddie in a little box with the subconscious promise of opening it later when he was alone. “That must’ve hurt.”

"As much as the bullet," Thomas said darkly, holding up his injured hand.

"Blimey," Jimmy muttered. He played a card. "I’ve thought of leavin’ service myself."

It was a late evening again, and they were alone in the servants’ hall. He was happy to see that Thomas wasn’t going out for a walk.

"What would you do?" Thomas asked.

"I don’t know. Work in a pub or a shop." He smiled impishly. "Serve drinks in a jazz club?"

"I could see that," Thomas said, chortling. "It would suit you. That’d be just like being a footman. With better music."

Thomas’s laugh made Jimmy grin and his cheeks felt warm. He looked back at his cards. “I s’pose it’s just a pipe dream though. But I do think about it. Might be fun to live in London or some place. Can’t say it too loud though, can ya? Everyone gets punchy.” Jimmy mimicked one of the footmen he’d known under Lady Anstruther. “What’s wrong with bein’ in service, Jimmy? It’s fine work.”

"I’ve said the same myself," Thomas admitted. "Don’t want to think I’m wastin’ away, do I?"

"But it’s only really half a life," Jimmy looked up at Thomas and felt a pang of regret suddenly. Maybe he should’ve tried for more. It wasn’t as if he was beholden to anyone. He had no real family now.

But anything better seemed impossible.

"A quarter of a life, more like," Thomas said, his voice cracking a little. "Slave all day, have a tea and the rest is them." He pointed at the ceiling, referring to the upstairs.

They shared a long silent look. Jimmy felt as if there was a deep empty well under them that they were about to fall into. Finally, Thomas broke the gaze and played a card.

"Who’s T.S. Eliot?" Jimmy said suddenly.

"He’s a poet," Thomas said, glancing up in surprise. "The book’s upstairs. I’ll lend it, if ya like. I warn you though. Might make you peevish."

"Oh…" Jimmy rose his eyebrows saucily. "Is that why you’re barmy? Poetry."

Thomas laughed again and mumbled, “Funny, I never laugh so much as when…”

"When what?"

"Never mind. Borrow what you like from my shelf when I’m in London."

"I s’pose I’ll need something to pass the time," Jimmy said. "If I don’t have you shouting orders, Mr. Barrow."

It occurred to Jimmy that he sounded like he was flirting with Thomas. In fact, he often sounded like he was flirting with Thomas.

_It’s good he’s going to London_ , Jimmy thought.  _It’ll give me a chance to get my head on straight._

* * *

They had gone. And with Mr. Branson in Edinburgh, there was only Little Mattie to see to, and he was looked after by a nanny. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes tried their best to put everyone to work on the odd job, but there wasn’t much to it. There was an air of respite in the house. On the first day, Mrs. Patmore asked Jimmy to take a few chickens to a poor family in the village on behalf of the Granthams. He was eager for the walk. It was nearly April and the air was warming up, the sky scattered with a few happy clouds. Jimmy took the long way through the estate. He stomped through the grass and took off his hat to fan himself.

"Hello there!" He spun around to see Eddie Redman trotting towards him. "Jimmy, is it?"

Jimmy tightened his grip on the three dead chickens tied with twine.

_Oh, bloody hell._

"Hello," Jimmy said quickly, and strode on, ignoring him.

Eddie laughed and ran ahead, walking backwards in front of him. “Hold on! No need to be so unfriendly.”

"I have to get these chickens out," Jimmy grumbled, staring down at the grass. "There’s… starving children."

"Oh, starving children, is it? That’s very serious."

Jimmy tried to go around him, but Eddie kept getting in his way. “Will you let me pass?”

"Just a  _word_ ,” Eddie insisted. “Or are you goin’ to pretend I didn’t see you in the stables?”

"Fine," Jimmy spat, stopping. "Ya did. What of it?"

"What of it?" Eddie crossed his arms. "Say what you will about our lot, I’ve never known one to go peekin’ at windows and the like."

"I was just lookin’ for Mr. Barrow. I didn’t mean-"

“‘Course you did. You stood there long enough. Did you like what you saw?”

"Get  _out_  of my way!”

Eddie put up his hands in defense and stepped aside. Jimmy sighed and walked on.

"He’s in love with you," Eddie said.

"Did he say that?" Jimmy said, stopping again.

"He doesn’t have to. He loves you, but he can’t have you. Not really. So he comes to me. For the rest, ya might say. Lucky for me." Eddie was so smug, Jimmy wanted to take his block off on general principle. But Eddie was also taller and stouter than he. "Unless he  _can_ have you, that is.”

"I don’t have to listen to this rubbish." Jimmy was red and he felt shaky again. He whipped around to shout at Eddie. "It’s disgustin’!  _And_  illegal! It’s got nothin’ to do with me!”

"It is illegal," Eddie said. "But I’d rather be what I am and have to hide it, then lie to myself. Mr. Barrow’s the same."

"Good for Mr. Barrow then."

"And you…" Eddie took a step closer. "You’re not sure, are ya? You want the pudding, but you’re afraid you’ll get your hand slapped."

Jimmy’s head was spinning. Eddie wasn’t even that handsome, but there was something appealing about him. And dangerous. “ _Please_  don’t tell him you saw me that night,” Jimmy said.

"I won’t," Eddie said quietly. "And if you ever want me to show you somethin’… I wouldn’t tell him that either. It’d just be between us."

"I  _don’t_  want to-“

"Alright. Just askin’." Eddie smirked and tipped his cap. "You know where I am if you change your mind. Good day to you."

* * *

That night Jimmy thought of Thomas and Eddie in the stables again, and pleasured himself. He’d done it every night since it had happened. The next afternoon was his outing with Ivy in Thirsk. Except now Alfred and Daisy were coming. Which was fine with him. He’d only decided to take Ivy out on an impulse; because he couldn’t get the image of Thomas’s pale back out of his head. Or the rain drops running between his shoulders. Or his face completely changed by sex.

But maybe he could stop it, he thought.

Or maybe he wasn’t completely like Thomas. Maybe he was just a little like Thomas. And that could be managed.

He tried to distract himself from such things by wondering how he would buy Ivy a treat in Thirsk -which would absolutely be expected- when he was nearly flat broke from buying the watch for Thomas. That would take some creativity.

On the way to Thirsk, he made polite conversation, but his heart wasn’t in it. Behind them, Alfred and Daisy were chatting up a storm about food; cooking, baking, preserving, and ‘s farm… He envied them.

"Well, you do play the piano very well," Ivy said, when he mentioned he liked music.

"My aunt had one," he said with a shrug. "Just picked it up. But Lady Anstruther let me play hers quite often. Learned a lot of the music she had around."

"Jimmy… Why’d you ask me to come? I know you don’t fancy me. Don’t pretend you do."

Jimmy sighed and ran through his hair, staring down at the dirt road. “No. I-I didn’t. I just thought… Maybe I could. Fancy you. Or somebody, if I tried-“

"Try? Why’d you have to try?" Ivy was looking at him like his bats had fled the attic. "You losin’ a bet or somethin’?"

"No…" He shook his head. "I can’t explain it."

“‘Cause you’re lonely then?” She blushed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

Jimmy didn’t like the word “lonely.” Just the word itself made him think of when his mother had died, right on the heels of losing his father in the war. That terrible emptiness, like the sky itself was about to cave in on him.

"That’s alright." But he didn’t answer her question. Instead he said, "Do you ever think about starting over? Or I mean… Do you ever think about leaving service?"

Her head snapped up. “Why? What’s wrong with service? It’s fine work, Jimmy.”

He almost laughed at her. But that would’ve ruined things. More than they’d already been ruined. “Right. I know. But…do you ever feel like you’re going to waste away? Like you’re only living half a life?”

"Half a life a’ what? I don’t understand."

Bats have utterly left the attic, her face said to him.

"Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "Just talkin’ nonsense."

He had brought up the same thing to Alfred. Alfred had not understood. Which was ironic, because Alfred could really cook and bake, if Daisy’s effusive rants about him were to be believed. He might have a chance at something outside of service.

They knocked around Thirsk for a bit and as the sun was setting, Jimmy convinced them to go into a pub.

"I haven’t got any money," Alfred whispered, standing aside with Jimmy as the girls chatted.

"Neither have I," Jimmy said. "Don’t worry about that." He clapped Alfred on the back.

There were a few patrons in the smoke-filled pub. The girls looked a little nervous, but sporting for an adventure. Jimmy sat at the counter and asked the man next to him if he had a cigarette. When he’d got one he started flipping it around in his fingers. He caught the bartender watching.

"That’s clever," the bartender said. "How do you do that?"

"Betcha five pence I could do it lit without breakin’ it or burnin’ my fingers?"

"I won’t give you five pence, but I’ll give you a lemonade." A couple men standing around came up to watch, and Alfred and girls took seats at the bar.

Jimmy lit the cigarette and flipped it around, quick between his fingers, like a baton. The men laughed.

"That’s a fair trick, lad." He poured a lemonade and slid across to him. "Here’s your lemonade."

Jimmy slid the lemonade over to Ivy. “Here ya go, Ivy. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”

"Oh, that’s fine," Alfred said. "What about the rest of us?"

Daisy piped up, “Jimmy, they’ve got a piano. Maybe they’ll let you play?”

Jimmy grinned and nodded at the bartender. “How ‘bout that? I’ll play for a coupla’ pints?”

The bartender squinted at him, drying a glass with a rag. “If I like it, I’ll give ya a coupla’ pints. You bring some people in, I’ll give ya four.”

"I’ll have it full up!" Jimmy said, standing from his stool.

"Tell you what, lad. You fill up the place and I’ll give you four pints and half a guinea!"

The men in the room laughed. Jimmy leaned over to the counter to shake the man’s hand. “I’ll hold you to it. But I’ll need your hat.”

The bartender was wearing a derby and Jimmy cheekily grabbed it off his head and replaced it with his cap. The bartender chortled and shook his head. Jimmy put on the derby, took off his jacket and handed it to Alfred. “There’s a good chap.”

He rolled up his sleeves and tugged his vest straight. The dusty old piano was in a dim corner, but there was some room by the front window. The bartender and the patrons just watched, amused, as Jimmy shoved the piano nearer the window, haranguing Alfred until he would help. Ivy and Daisy sat at a table nearby, giggling. Jimmy brushed off his hands and pursed his lips, eyeing the girls.

"Either of you sing?"

"Aye, but poorly," Ivy laughed.

"I’m not singin’!" Daisy said quickly, her voice rising a nervous octave.

"You’ll do," he said to Ivy. "Do you know "By the Light of the Silvery Moon?"

"Sure, I do."

He nodded and held his hands up, palms out, moving them in circles. “Can ya do that?”

"Of course."

"Right, I’ll tell you when."

Daisy clapped in delight and Alfred took a seat, already chuckling. Jimmy borrowed a rag from the bartender and dusted off the piano keys. The few other patrons watched his every move and muttered at each other. Jimmy played a few runs and went into “Maple Leaf Rag.” He played some more rags and a few people stopped by the window and came in. He smiled to himself and wished Thomas was there. When there were just enough people to make a credible audience, and even some more ladies, he nodded at Ivy.

"Come on up, Ivy!"

Ivy was bright red and Jimmy shouted, “This is Ivy, everybody! She’ll sing a tune for us. Say hello, Ivy!”

"Hello!" Ivy said bashfully.

Jimmy went into “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” nodding encouragingly at Ivy, who sang just well enough. She even danced her hands about like he’d shown her. More people came in. Alfred and Daisy were off their heads with glee. Jimmy noted briefly, that things must be be going well with Daisy if Alfred wasn’t bothered by him being cocky. He knew he was being cocky after all- he was just so good at it. Ivy sang “Tea for Two” and Jimmy got some people to join in. He glanced back at the growing crowd. Mostly men and some women. And most of a certain age. Perfect.

"You all know this one, so everyone join in." He hollered. He started playing "It’s a Long Way to Tipperary" and the crowd sang. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the bartender was doing a brisk business. After that he got Ivy up again and she sang "Hello Ma Baby", blushing the whole time.

"A little appreciation for lovely Ivy?" Jimmy said, standing. Everyone applauded and Jimmy tipped his hat. "Our Ivy here is a kitchen maid! Last night she’s told to dress my lady for dinner, so she rolls her ladyship in flour and stuffs her with bread."

The crowd laughed. Alfred had given up his chair to a woman and was leaning against a wall, laughing and red-faced. Jimmy pointed at him, “That’s my mate, Alfred. The lad’s a bright one, alright. He wanted roast geese for supper, so he’s stolen her ladyship’s knickers and now his goose is cooked.”

A man handed him a pint and Jimmy took it, holding it up in the air. “God save the king!”

"God save the king!" The crowd answered. He took a swig of beer.

Jimmy pushed his hat forward, at a jaunty angle over one eye. “Drink up and feed a footman, gents. Give us one pence and I’ll sing ya two songs for every three broken hearts. Which, judgin’ by you lot, will take me four nights.”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

An hour later, they all left; squiffy, jolly, and a half a guinea richer. The bartender let Jimmy keep his derby and Ivy was wearing his cap. He even gave her some of the profit of the night, after buying them all a few rounds of drinks, saying that now she was a professional singer.

Daisy was rosy-cheeked as they walked down the street, and hung onto Alfred’s arm. “Oh my Lord! I’ve never had so much fun in my life!”

Alfred said, “When that old Scottish bloke started dancing, I thought I was goin’ to die laughing.”

"Where’d you learn how to  _do_  that, Jimmy?” Ivy said.

"I told you, I learned to play piano-"

"Not that," Alfred interrupted. "Anyone can play piano. But the jokes and getting everyone all riled up like that. There were only four or five people when we walked in."

"You should be in shows," Daisy said.

"My father used to take me to music hall shows," Jimmy said, shrugging. "I picked up a couple things here or there. It’s just good fun."

Ivy hooked her arm through his and sighed. “Well, I still don’t fancy ya anymore, Jimmy Kent. But I have to say, now I sort of wish I did.”

"Trust me," Jimmy said, "I wish I fancied you too."


	12. Chapter 12

Thomas Barrow felt like a king. Or a Lord at least. Or perhaps some new kind of man. He stood at the bar of a crowded jazz club in a dinner suit that Lady Mary had insisted she buy for him before their departure. Funny, he had been wearing livery and suits and uniforms most of his life. But a dinner suit was something else. He felt like he was on the other side of things. Also, he knew he looked good. He looked very good. He lit a cigarette and blew out a puff slowly.

Lady Mary was standing at the end of the bar, speaking to Lady Edith. They were both wearing glittering dresses with (hemlines shorter than anything he’d ever seen them wear at Downton) and feathered headbands. Anna had been feeling tired and out of sorts (“Nothing to worry about, m’lady, I assure you.”) and stayed back at Eaton Square. Lady Edith had picked them both up to take them out on the town. Lady Edith’s beau, Michael Gregson, was waiting for them at the club. Thomas had heard about him. Her editor. And  _married_. The last Thomas had heard, she had promised to end it. Apparently, they were seeing each other on the sly. Thomas was sworn to secrecy.

He took a sip of gin. He’d never had gin before. He wasn’t sure what to think of it, but it did the job well enough.

The band was playing up a storm and people were dancing; closer and with more…animation than Thomas was used to.

"Whole new world," he muttered.

"Hello there," a female voice said. Thomas turned his head and looked down. A pretty, but not beautiful girl with a brown bob and wearing a red dress trimmed with feathers smiled at him. She was about Daisy’s age. "I thought I’d met every gorgeous man at this club, but who  _on earth_  are you?”

"Thomas Barrow," he said in his silkiest voice. "Pleasure." She put her hand out expectantly and he kissed it.

"And I’m Lara Schiller," she said. "Would you happen to have a spare cigarette, Thomas Barrow?"

He took out his pack. “I always have a spare for a lady.”

"Well, if I find one, I’ll certainly tell her," the girl said. He gave her a cigarette and lit up, eyeing him up and down. "You are taken, aren’t you? The gorgeous ones are always taken."

"I have the pleasure of escorting Lady Mary Crawley tonight," Thomas said. He nodded at the end of the bar towards Mary and Edith, who was blocked by a couple of men standing in front of her. "She’s the one in black."

"A  _proper_  lady?” Sarah said, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose I really am barking up the wrong tree.”

_And how_ , Thomas thought.

Lara eyed Mary and Lady Edith and said, “Ah! Crikey! Edith’s sister! I know  _Edith_ Crawley! She comes here with that Michael Gregson. He’s a bit of a bore, if you ask me. But Edith is lovely.”

An older man with a thin black mustache sauntered up and tapped Lara on the shoulder. “Lara, if you’re staying over tonight, mind you tell the chauffeur. I do pay these people.” He had a faint German accent.

_Good Lord_ , Thomas thought.

"I’m talking to someone, Felix!" Lara rolled her eyes at Thomas. "My brother’s so rude. I apologize."

Thomas nodded in understanding. “Not at all.”

"I’m so sorry," Felix said to Thomas. "She’s right. Bit of a chaotic night, but when isn’t it?"

Thomas must have registered his confusion because Lara touched his hand and said, “He owns the club. But of course, he always assume everyone knows that.”

Felix put out his hand and nodded, “Felix Schiller.”

"Thomas Barrow," Thomas said, shaking his hand.

The music had gotten louder and Lara had to shout to be heard as she spoke to Felix. “He’s a friend of Michael and Edith’s! He’s with her sister, Mary!”

"Ah! Marvelous!" He glanced at Thomas’s empty glass. "Let me buy you a drink, old sport!"

Mary and Edith found them, and Schiller hustled them out of the fray of the bar to a private booth which became less than private as other friends of Schiller’s arrived.

Thomas sat between Mary and Schiller, a glass of cognac in front of him. Mary had given him an entire lecture about how they were to use first names, at least in London. It still felt odd.

"Are you having fun, Mary?" He said, almost choking on the name.

Her smile faltered for the briefest second. “I’m not thinking about anything right now,” she said slowly. “So, yes.”

Across the table, a bearded man in spectacles was arguing with a dark haired woman in furs. He sounded upset. He was pounding the table with his fists.

"But that’s exactly what I’m saying!" He insisted. "We’ve surpassed the importance of information as narrative! There is no meaning in the orders of the past. We’ve exploded it, you see, and all that remains is the self-"

"Oh God, don’t star that Freudian nonsense again," the brunette said. "We’re supposed to be having a good time!"

"But that’s exactly my point!" The man said. "Drink up!" He raised his glass and grinned. Everyone else raised their glass in kind. Thomas just smiled and took a drink, trying to look like he belonged there.

Schiller clapped Thomas on the back. “That’s our Professor Bloom. The intellectuals like to come in and teach us things.” He gestured around the table, full of men and women Thomas hadn’t even met yet, all dressed spectacularly and arguing. Michael Gregson was debating the meaning of propaganda with a grey-haired woman who wore a monocle. “Half of these people are artists and writers. And all of them are drunks.”

Professor Bloom kept ranting.

Thomas said to Mary, “Do you have any idea what the professor is talking about?”

"Not yet," Mary said, laughing. "Don’t worry. You’re not alone."

"We defined ourselves by the social order is what I’m trying to say," Bloom went on, raising his fist. "But that’s done, you see! That’s out! Meaning comes from within. From experience and connection! It’s like that lovely great Eliot poem, the uh, the Love Song of… Oh dear, oh dear. I must be sorely soused if I don’t know it-"

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," Thomas said loudly.

Mary and Edith looked flabbergasted. But no one else appeared surprised. No one else knew he was a butler.

"Yes, that’s it!" Bloom said. "You know it?"

"It’s a favorite," Thomas said, hoping he wouldn’t be asked to discuss anyone else’s poetry.

"You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?" Lady Mary said.

Thomas just smiled and tried to look mysterious.

Bloom asked him his opinion on the poem and Thomas told him how it made him peevish and muddled. At least Bloom seemed to accept that Thomas was no scholar. Then he started going on about Virginia Woolf.

"I’ve met her, you know," the brunette said. "She’s not much fun."

Thomas was more concerned with his lack of drink and looked around for a waiter. From what he could tell, the wait staff was wearing suits exactly like that of the guests, so it was difficult to tell who was who unless someone was carrying a platter. In a corner, he saw two young men holding trays and arguing. There were several waiters behind the bar, talking and not serving. Thomas snorted in derision.

Schiller followed his line of sight and huffed. “Oh, here we go again. I must take care of this, excuse me.”

"He has the hardest time finding a decent manager," Lara Schiller said. Thomas frowned. How hard could it be to find someone to manage a wait staff in a nightclub properly? It wasn’t much different from managing footmen.

Lady Edith was talking to a dandy sort; a young curly-haired man wearing a hat with a feather in it. “Peter, aren’t you a poet? How is it coming?”

"Slowly and painfully, I’m afraid."

"It’s hard to get work done in the city," the brunette said. "Or I find it hard, anyhow."

Lady Edith said to Mary and Thomas, “That’s Belinda. She’s a painter. I think.”

Bloom said, “What we need, my dear compatriots, is a retreat.”

"God, yes," Peter said. "Some place in the country. Just for the rest of the spring."

Thomas could see from Mary’s face, that things were about to get interesting. And sure enough, Mary asked, “How do you all feel about Yorkshire?”

"We adore Yorkshire!" Bloom said.

Schiller returned and sat back down with a sigh. “I think I may have to sack this one.”

"That would be the third this year," Lara said.

Thomas said, “Is it so difficult to find a proper manager? Any fool could instill a little discipline, get things organized.” Thomas had had some drink. Perhaps he was speaking too forwardly. He found himself slipping into his workaday Yorkshire twang. “And I don’t see why all the waiters are dressed the same as the customers. That’s just askin’ for trouble.”

"Oh, really?" Schiller said, amused. "And what is it you do, Mr. Barrow?"

Mary had heard him and she said to Thomas, “I don’t believe I have anything to fear from Schiller.” She leaned over and said quietly, “He’s our butler, actually. But don’t tell anyone. He’s protecting me from degenerates, you see.”

_Rather thought I was a degenerate to be protected from_ , Thomas thought.

"A butler…" Schiller gave him a long look. "A man like you is wasting away in the north? That is disconcerting."

Thomas eyed him and wondered for the first time if Schiller was batting for his team. Was that what he meant? “A man like me?” He said, puzzled. Certainly, he thought well of himself in general. Except when he loathed himself. But other people usually sided with the loathing. “I’m working class from Yorkshire. I’m lucky to be a butler in a great house like Downton.”

Schiller tapped his mustache and squinted at him. “Do you have a card?”

"Butlers don’t usually carry cards," Thomas said.

"I have a card. On his behalf, that is," Mary said. "I’ll give one to you later, if you’ll remind me."

"Thank you, darling!" Schiller said.

* * *

Thomas danced with Lara, Lady Edith, and eventually Mary, after scaring away some interested parties with his patented cheekbone-glare. He was soused himself, and the happily buzzing part of his brain wished he could crawl inside the party and forget the rest of his life. He wondered if Mary was thinking same thing when she put a hand around his waist as the music slowed.

"Schiller seems taken with you," Mary said. Her words were a little slurred. Thomas raised his eyebrows. Mary knew what he meant and laughed too loud, patting him on the shoulder. "I didn’t mean  _that_!”

"Are you really going to unleash these bohemians on Downton?" He said.

She nodded with exaggerated force. “I hope you’ve been plotting a way to distract Carson. I’ve heard you’re an excellent plotter!”

"Short of knocking him unconscious, I’ve no ideas."

"We’ll think of something."

The band was playing “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.” Mary leaned her head on his shoulder and Thomas wondered what Jimmy was doing and how his outing with Ivy had gone. He would probably get married and find a way out of service. If anyone could, Jimmy could. Thomas was almost startled to realize how deeply he wanted Jimmy to be happy. Even if his happiness crushed Thomas into dust. Lara went onstage and sang “Avalon.” She was pretty good, but the song was sad. He felt Mary sniffle on his shoulder.

She leaned back and said, “I can’t look at my son.”

"I’m sorry?"

"Mattie," Mary said. "He has Matthew’s eyes exactly. Sometimes I can’t bear to look at him."

Thomas wasn’t necessarily used to people being so emotional around him. He didn’t exactly invite it. All he could think of to say were platitudes. And platitudes annoyed Mary, so he just started talking and let the cognac do the rest.

"I’ve always been…alone," he said. "I’ve been in love. But even then I’ve been alone. I’d give anything to have what you and Mr. Crawley had. To lose it…"

_To lose it…_  Well, he had nothing to say after that.

Mary nodded. She was looking at him so seriously. Even though he was certain he wasn’t saying anything new. “Is your heart broken, Thomas?”

The drink had really hit his head. He smiled drunkenly and said, “Yes, m’lady.”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

With the house empty, but for the next heir of Downton, Mr. Carson had the boys move all the big furniture so the maids could clean behind it. By tea time, Jimmy was tired and aching. He suspected all this was a punishment from Mr. Carson for having been an hour late from the pub the night before. But at the table, all Alfred could talk about was the pub and Jimmy’s performance. Daisy hovered in the doorway with a kettle and agreed with everything he said.

Mrs. Hughes said, “I should think Mr. Carson might be interested in your exploits, James. Given his experience-“

"I don’t think my past merits conversation." Mr. Carson had gone very pink. Jimmy made a mental note to ask Thomas what on earth the two were talking about when he got back.

Mr. Carson gave them a little time to rest before moving all the furniture back. Alfred took the opportunity to get in the way of Daisy in the kitchen, and Jimmy thought he’d take a look at Thomas’s bookshelf after all.

There was no one in the men’s quarters. Jimmy felt like he was doing something wrong when he went to Thomas’s room, even though he’d been given express permission. When he’d first started working at Lady Anstruther’s, the measure of difference between the family rooms and the servants’ rooms had amazed him. Now he was used to it; the tiny bed, the spare furniture, and the blank cream walls.

He sat down on the floor in front of Thomas’s squat bookcase. The collection was small, and really he could’ve asked to borrow something from Lord Grantham’s library. But he’d rather borrow it from Thomas. He pulled out a dusty work of H.G. Wells, when a thin slip of a book came out with it. It was the book of poetry Thomas had been talking about. He decided on the two and stood, intending to go back to his room. But he had an urge to stay. Then his eyes settled on the bureau. He set his books on top and rested his hands on the top drawer. On impulse, he slid it open. Undershirts. That wasn’t largely interesting. But next to them was a cigar box and a couple bundles of letters.

Of course, poking around was wrong. But it wasn’t as if he was looking for a dark secret. He just found himself wanting to know more  _of_  Thomas, who wasn’t what one might call an open book. He took out the cigar box and bit his lip. It wouldn’t be utterly out of bounds just to see who they were from, would it? The smaller bundle was from India. Ah yes, the cousin in Bombay; missives full of lectures on Indian politics, no doubt. The other bundle was from Miss O’Brien from Downton, to Thomas in France. War letters. He took O’Brien’s letters and the box and sat down on Thomas’s bed.

_Dear Thomas,_

_Never forget that you, like me, are a survivor. We’re the rats in the dungeon that survive every battle. Don’t try to be a hero, lad. It doesn’t suit you…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_I suppose there are worst things than assisting in an amputation in the field of battle. Be thankful, it wasn’t your leg…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_If the helmets don’t stop bullets, are they only meant for fashion? For God’s sake, keep your head down…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_I imagine if your father were alive, he’d have bigger fish to fry with you than whether you were in the infantry or not…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_No word on our favorite martyr. I suspect he’s in London, foraging for swords to fall on…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_Her Ladyship asked after your wellbeing and didn’t listen to a word. Sometimes I think the aristocracy was born with cotton ears around their empty brains. But you didn’t hear that from me…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_William won’t stop sulking because his father doesn’t let him join up. I have a mind to show him your letters, if it would knock some bright into the dull boy…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_Stop talking nonsense. It wasn’t your fault. You’re not a surgeon after all…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_If I’m the only friend you’ve got in the world, I pity you, lad…_

_Dear Thomas,_

_I don’t rightly know what to say to all that, except that you must carry on. You’ve got this far. Put the fallen men out of your head. You can’t help them now…_

Jimmy poured over every letter. There was nothing incriminating in them. Thomas wasn’t keeping them for some proof of a secret to hold over O’Brien’s head. They were just letters to a friend to hold his spirits up during war time. What they implied about Thomas’s end of things made his blood run cold. It was something that even though O’Brien had become Thomas’s worst enemy, he had kept them. He bundled the letters back up, exactly how they had been, and opened the cigar box.

In the cigar box he found: a picture of Lady Sybil Branson in her nurses’s uniform, a pressed twig of dried heather, a rusty metal pin in the shape of a star, several yellowing ink drawings signed by Thomas of empty trenches and soldiers, a couple of postcards from Paris signed by somebody named Geoffery, an empty perfume bottle, a silk handkerchief with the monogram of a letter C…

What did him in were three photographs. Like all portraits of the time, the people in them weren’t smiling. The first was of a man who could almost be mistaken for Thomas, but with a thick mustache and shorter hair. He wore an old fashioned suit and looked into the distance. On the back was written: Father 1893. The second was of a beautiful young woman on the verge of smiling, and wearing a dress with a high collar. The resemblance was unmistakeable; a resemblance not to Thomas, but to Sybil Branson. They looked much more like sisters than Lady Sybil and her actual sisters. On the back was written: Mother 1874-1901. Jimmy was pretty sure that Thomas’s father was also dead, but he hadn’t bothered to write the years of his life on the back of his father’s photograph. Thomas never talked about his family, except superficially. The third picture was of a boy around four years of age. He wore a tiny suit and thick boots. His dark hair was parted straight down the middle. He frowned, wide-eyed, into the camera, resting his hand on a decorative pedestal. On the back was written: Thomas Barrow 1896.

That was all there was in the box.

It took one moment of sitting on the bed in a silent room, surrounded by the humble litter of a small life, for Jimmy to become abruptly overwhelmed by love for Thomas. He stared at the picture of the little boy, his mother, and the Lady he had adored who looked just like her. He saw his own loneliness in Thomas’s, and it reflected back on him. Then he began to weep.

* * *

Hours later, after moving all the furniture back with Alfred and eating dinner silently, Jimmy went for a walk. It was useful, at least, to know exactly where he wanted to go, if not why.

Eddie Redman was sitting on the floor, leaning up against a saddle. When he saw Jimmy creep through the door, he hopped to his feet.

"Hello," Eddie said, grinning. He stayed where he was, for which Jimmy was grateful.

Jimmy remained near the door, his fists clenched at his sides. He nodded at Eddie.

Eddie said, “Is there something I can…do for you?”

"I don’t know," Jimmy said. "I don’t know what I’m doing here."

"I think you do," Eddie said, chuckling.

Jimmy shifted on his feet. Edgy. Tense. “Are you in love with Thomas?”

"No," Eddie said with a snort.

"And he’s not in love with you…" Jimmy said slowly. He was fairly certain of this, from the way Thomas spoke about Eddie.

"Well, I’m not a pretty boy footman from the big house. So no."

Jimmy didn’t even hear the deprecation. He just said,”Good.” He glanced at Eddie and away.

Eddie said, “You’ve never…”

"No."

Eddie took a slow step forward. “But you want somethin’. Don’t you?”

"I don’t know. I don’t know what I am and I can’t go to him without knowin’…"

_Because what if I’m wrong and I’m not like him at all_ , is what Jimmy didn’t say.  _Then I really will have led him on._

Eddie took another step forward. “I won’t tell him. You can tell him if you like. That’s up to you.”

Jimmy felt as if the police might burst in at any moment. Would people know? Would they be able to tell just by looking at him?

"I won’t be coming back here," Jimmy said quickly. "I just want to know what it’s like-"

"That’s fine."

Jimmy took a step back. “I don’t want to do…what I saw you doin’ with him.”

"Alright," Eddie said softly. "Take a breath, for pity’s sake. I’m not goin’ to jump at you."

Jimmy obeyed and took a deep breath.

Eddie said, “Can I see your hands?”

That was a strange enough request, that Jimmy only frowned and held out his hands. Eddie took a final step forward so he was very close. He took Jimmy’s hands in his, holding them palms up.

"Can tell you work inside, ya know?" Eddie said. "Soft skin."

Eddie stroked Jimmy’s hands with his thumbs. Jimmy felt something inside him began to open; like a sheltered plant finally seeing the sun.

"Jimmy…" Eddie whispered. "It’s alright, Jimmy."

"I…"

"It’s alright."

Eddie leaned in slowly, giving Jimmy plenty of time to back out. But he didn’t. He closed his eyes and let Eddie kiss him. Jimmy had only ever kissed girls (outside of that one time when he was asleep, but that didn’t really count), and as the boy, was always the more aggressive one. Partly because he was trying to find out what all the fuss was. But this was the fuss. Eddie put a hand around his waist and pulled him closer, prodding his mouth open. Jimmy set his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, unsure whether he was pushing or pulling.

He wondered, if Thomas had kissed him like this, when he was awake…would things have been different?

_No, you dunce, you would have socked him in the jaw._

Eddie just kissed him for a while; slowly, but with feeling, pulling him closer, and Jimmy felt a hand sliding down his chest into his trousers. He broke the kiss, but didn’t push Eddie away. He gasped and Eddie kissed his jaw and then his neck as he stroked him. Jimmy moaned and leaned back against the door. The sensations were so new and acute, that he didn’t even realize it when Eddie went down to his knees, until he felt his mouth.

Jimmy imagined he was with Thomas, before the pleasure became almost too much too bear.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Mary took Thomas and Anna to see a musical comedy in the West End called  _The Cabaret Girl._  The show was about the son of a Marchioness who wanted to marry an unsuitable chorus singer. Thomas enjoyed it, but having never been to a proper theater before, he had nothing to compare it to. At intermission, he stood next to Anna and smoked in the lobby. As surreal as spending the evening in a nightclub with Lady Mary Crawley had been, somehow it seemed even odder to be out on the town with Anna Bates, who stood quietly watching the upper crust stand around chattering. She looked rather pretty in a green dress she’d borrowed from Mary. Thomas puffed his cigarette and felt more out of place than usual as Mary, Lady Edith and Michael Gregson stood in a huddle discussing the show.

"It’s great fun," Gregson said. "But after Ziegfeld-"

"Michael darling, if you talk about the Follies again, I shall have to gag you with your own pocket square." Edith shook her head, but she was beaming. "He never tires of reminding everyone that he’s been to the theater in New York."

"This is strange, isn’t it?" Anna said to Thomas.

"You’re not wrong," Thomas agreed.

"If you’d told me a few years ago, I’d be standing in the lobby of the Winter Garden Theater. In Lady Mary’s  _dress_. With you, of all people…”

"I don’t know what you mean, Anna," Thomas said. "Aren’t we friends?"

He’d intended it as a jest. Sort of. But Anna eyed him warily. “Are we? When did that happen?”

Thomas wasn’t too surprised, but apparently Jimmy wasn’t correct to claim that  _everybody_  liked him now.

He shrugged and put his cigarette out in an ash can. “Your Mr. Bates seems to have gotten past our previous disagreements.”

"Is that what they were?" Anna said, raising her eyebrows. "Call me unChristian… I don’t forgive as easily as my husband."

"Good," Thomas huffed. "He’s insufferable." Anna looked like she was about to retort, when the color suddenly drained from her face and she held a gloved fist over her mouth and shut her eyes.

"Anna?" Thomas said. She put a hand out as if feeling for the wall. "Anna? Are you ill?"

"I’ve just had a turn," she said breathlessly. "I… I need to go outside."

Thomas looked around for Mary and Lady Edith, but they had returned to the bar on the other side of the lobby. Anna looked like she was about to faint, so Thomas took her arm and escorted her out onto the sidewalk. He found a place for them to stand away from the crowds, under the theater awning, and she leaned on the white brick wall, panting.

"We must get you back to Eaton," Thomas said, looking around for a cab.

"No, no," Anna said, still looking pained. "I’ll be alright in a moment, I know it."

Thomas was about to insist, when Anna took off at a girlish trot, slowed by her heeled shoes, to a waste bin, into which she promptly vomited. Thomas ran after her. Two old biddies in furs walking by, paused, and wrinkled their noses in her direction.

Thomas stood in front of Anna and sneered at the passersby, towering over them in his dinner jacket. “Curdled your milk, did it, ladies? Carry on. We’re not sellin’ tickets.”

Anna clutched the edge of the bin, getting her bearings. She stood straight and held a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God… Oh my God, how embarrassing.”

"Don’t be daft," Thomas said. "Everyone gets ill. Are you better for now or do you think you’ll be sick again?"

"I’m alright for now, I think."

He took her arm again and led her to a bench near the theater. He didn’t particularly want to leave her alone, but there was nothing for it.

"Stay here and don’t move," Thomas said. "I’ll only be a minute."

She nodded and he trotted back to the theater where, to his consternation, the usher at the door wanted to see his ticket stub. At the front desk he wrote out a note and asked for a page-boy to take it to Mary, then retrieved their coats from the coat check. Outside, it took him a while to hail a cab, because he wasn’t in the practice of hailing cabs.

Once inside the car, Anna leaned her head against the window and sighed as they headed to Eaton Square.

"It doesn’t seem fair for you to miss the rest of the show," she said.

"It’s a musical comedy," he said with a shrug. "A bit of farce and a song. Happy ending."

"I can’t believe I was sick in front of you…and all of London."

"I was a medic in the trenches for two years. A little sick isn’t enough to put me off."

"Of course."

"Is it a flu, do you think?" He said, leaning back against the soft leather of the cab seat. "Or did you already feel ill? Why’d you not say something?"

"It’s  _fine_ , Mr. Barrow,” she said, in a voice that maintained she knew exactly what was wrong and she wasn’t about to tell him.

Thomas couldn’t help but feel a terrible weight settle on his shoulders. It felt suspiciously like dread. First Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley and now _Anna_? Thomas stared at her and she rolled her eyes.

"I’m not dying. Stop lookin’ like the world’s ending."

Thomas frowned and stared at his hands. He was certain he he’d been covering his emotions fairly well. Then again, he’d been working and living with Anna for the better part of twelve years now. He supposed she’d gotten pretty good at reading him.

_Women_ , he thought wryly.

"If it’s not serious," he said, "then what is it?"

Anna stared out the window at the lights of the London streets. He saw her usually serene face crack and her voice hitched. “Can’t we leave it at that?”

Thomas decided to pull rank. “No. As your superior, if it’s going to effect your work, I think I have a right to know.”

Anna came as close as Thomas had ever seen her to curling her lip.

"And I told Mr. Bates I’d look after you," he said. That brought up her short and he rose an eyebrow. "I’ll not go back on my word and give him yet  _another_ claim to the moral high ground.”

The cab went over a bump in the road and Anna winced. “I don’t want to tell  _you_ ,” she insisted. “I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Mr. Bates. I didn’t realize til he was already in Paris. It’s not fair- _”_

"Anna-"

"Oh, for God’s sake, Thomas, I’m going to have a baby."

* * *

Anna swore Thomas to secrecy. At least until the return of Mr. Bates. The next day they all boarded the train back to Yorkshire, and Thomas kept an eye on Anna, wondering if the motion of the train would bother her. He hadn’t been joking about looking after her. If something happened to Anna, John Bates would surely find a way to blame himself in the most obnoxious way possible. Then he’d probably start self-flagellating with the whips of 13th century monks. Not that Thomas didn’t appreciate what Mr. Bates had done for him in fighting off O’Brien when he’d been almost too broken down to even stand on his feet. But he didn’t want to feel he  _owed_  Bates anything either.

His anxiety certainly had nothing to do with Anna, or what had happened to Lady Sybil when she had a baby.

They were all in the same compartment. Lady Mary had harangued Anna for information on her illness and tried to convince her to see a doctor when they returned. Anna assured her it was a passing stomach bug.

When Lady Mary left their compartment to go to the dining car, Thomas said, “You should tell Mrs. Hughes.”

"I’ll tell her when it’s necessary to tell her„" Anna said with a sigh. She blushed and squirmed in her seat. "Things can happen, you know. It’s best to get a few months in before you start telling people."

Thomas nodded and imagined a bar of soap.

"Things can happen alright," he muttered.

Thomas stared at the window and watched the countryside roll by. That spring was proving to be full of surprises. Who knew what had been happening at Downton in the last three days? Jimmy and Ivy were probably engaged by now. His heart physically hurt at the thought. Maybe he would see Eddie again after all. He should be happy with what he could get.

"Mr. Barrow?" Anna said. Thomas was pulled from his sad thoughts. Anna was wearing a mischievous expression. "May I ask you something rather daring?"

"You can ask," Thomas allowed. "I may not answer." He hoped it something to do with Lady Mary and not his personal life.

"Have you taken up with someone?" Anna said. Thomas didn’t answer and Anna said, "Only, if you have… I say, good on you."

"Really."

"I know what’s it like," Anna said carefully, "to love someone you can’t have. When I found Mr. Bates was married and we couldn’t be together… I understand, is all."

Thomas laughed sardonically. “You can’t be arrested for bein’ someone’s mistress,” Thomas pointed out. “You don’t know what it’s like. A bit of heartache and now you’ve got your cottage? You don’t understand at all.”

"Fair enough," Anna said, looking chastened. Her lips twitched and she said, "But at least  _you’ve_  got the vote.”

* * *

At Downton, Mr. Carson and Jimmy greeted the car. As Thomas stepped out, he tried to ignore the way his heart soared when Jimmy strode up to him with a brilliant grin.

"Welcome back, Mr. Barrow!" Jimmy chirped. "Did you have fun?"

"It was eye opening," Thomas said. He followed Jimmy to the back of the car to unload the suitcases and whispered in his ear, "I’ve got  _loads_  to tell you.”

Jimmy gave him a little look that Thomas couldn’t begin to read. “I can hardly wait.”

"Six guests?" Mr. Carson said to Lady Mary as Thomas and Jimmy trailed after them into the great hall. "This is sudden."

"Trust me," Lady Mary said. "They won’t be the kind to necessitate a fuss."

"Oh, I wouldn’t say that," Thomas mumbled.

Jimmy followed Thomas up to his room. Though he really should’ve been helping Alfred take up Lady Mary’s things.

"Who’s comin’?" Jimmy said, as they headed into the men’s quarters.

"Writers," Thomas said slyly. "Artists. Intellectuals. Things are about to get interesting."

In his room, Thomas set his suitcase on the bed and Jimmy leaned in the doorway, his hands in his pockets.

"No doubt," Jimmy tittered.

"Lady Edith was there with her editor," Thomas said, taking off his coat and hat and tossing them on a chair.

"The married man."

"They’re not even trying to hide it." He popped open his suitcase. "They gallivant around London and no one bats an eye."

"Must be nice," Jimmy muttered.

"Nicer than facing the wrath of his Lordship, and no mistake." He unpacked his shirts and laid them out. Everything would need to be laundered. "And you? Hope you didn’t get up to too much trouble while I was away."

"Oh, not me," Jimmy said. "Went to Thirsk."

Thomas glanced up and nodded. “With Ivy, yes?”

"Yes. Well, but Alfred and Daisy came along as well."

"Of course. Mustn’t upset the mothers. How was that?" Thomas tried to focus on his clothes instead of his curiosity. It was all he could to keep the tension out of his voice when he said, "Do I hear wedding bells?"

"Hardly. I, uh… She’s not the one for me."

"To be honest, I didn’t think so," Thomas said. "No worries, Jimmy. You’ll find the right girl. And when you do, you’ll be head over heels."

"I will be," Jimmy said quietly. Thomas unpacked his dinner jacket and brushed it off. Jimmy strolled in, his eyes on the suit. "Your dinner jacket."

Thomas admired the jacket, but it also made him a little said. It’s not as if he had much use for it. “Might come in handy for entertaining in the servants’ hall.”

"You must’ve looked very smart in it," Jimmy said behind him.

_Stay on neutral ground_ , Thomas told himself.

"I ought to have," Thomas said casually. "Playing suitor to a Lady."

"Hmm." Jimmy kept glancing at the floor and he wouldn’t take his hands out of his pockets.

"Are you…alright?" Thomas said.

"Oh," Jimmy said. "Yes. Just hungry. Mr. Carson’s had us moving furniture around for the last two days."

"We do like to push. If you find us pushing too hard, don’t be afraid to push back. It doesn’t hurt."

Jimmy nodded and a wide cheeky grin appeared on his face. He bit his lip and took a step back. Thomas really wished he wouldn’t look at him like that, and with those adorably squinty eyes.

"I’ll keep that in mind," Jimmy said. He walked backwards to the door. "So…I’ll see you downstairs?"

Thomas just blinked at him. “Yes, James. At some point I’m fairly certain you’ll see me downstairs.”

"Right. Well, glad your back." Jimmy spun around and tromped out.

Thomas laid out his dinner jacket and shook his head. “He doesn’t make it easy.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Jimmy was Thomas’s sort and now he didn’t know what to do.

Things had shifted. Some feeling that had been building up in Jimmy was released into the air and every bit of it was directed at Thomas. At the stables, Jimmy had maintained to Eddie that he wouldn’t be seeing him again. Not in  _that_  capacity anyway.

"And do you suppose I’ll be seeing Mr. Barrow again?" Eddie had asked with a knowing look.

"Not if I can help it," Jimmy muttered, buttoning his trousers.

"Alright, but if he comes…he comes."

"He won’t."

"No great loss then," Eddie had said. "There’s a bloke in the post office who keeps winkin’. Gives me a sudden urge to write more letters to my mother."

In the kitchen, Jimmy tried not to stare at Thomas who was going over a list of groceries with Mrs. Patmore.

"Six people can’t drink this much," Mrs. Patmore protested. "And what is absinthe?"

"Nothing we’ll find in Ripon," Thomas admitted. "I wouldn’t be surprised if they brought it in."

"Oh Lord. What kind of people are these, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas leaned over and rose an eyebrow. “Troublemakers, Mrs. Patmore. Be on your guard.”

"What’re you smiling about?" Daisy said to Jimmy, with her hand up inside a chicken. "You look like you just swallowed the sun."

"I’m not smilin’," Jimmy said. He cleared his throat.

"No? Then it’s a funny way to frown."

"I’m in a good mood."

"Me too!" Daisy said gleefully. She pulled the giblets of her chicken and Jimmy grimaced, stepping away. "Alfred says he heard Lady Mary tell Mr. Carson that one of the guests has got a pet monkey! Can you fancy it? A pet  _monkey_!”

"I’ll doubt we’ll see it," Alfred said, stepping in to sprinkle something on the chicken as Daisy washed her hands. "I don’t think it’ll be comin’ to dinner."

Daisy slapped his hand. “Don’t mess about with my chicken.”

"Trust me, they’ll like it." Daisy and Alfred looked at each other like they were each made of cotton candy.

"I don’t know," Jimmy said. "Mr. Barrow says they might invite us all up for a party. They don’t go in for all that propriety stuff. They’re not society sorts."

Alfred looked confused. “What are they if they’re not society sorts and they’re stayin’ at Downton?”

"They’re bohemians," Jimmy said.

"Is that Irish?" Alfred said. "Like Fenians?"

"No, I said they’re  _bohemian_ -“

Daisy said, “We heardja’. Where’s that then?”

"It’s in Czechoslovakia, but that’s not what I meant."

"Czechos… Are you makin’ that up?" Alfred said, suspicious.

"Alfred…" Jimmy looked back and forth between the two of them in disbelief. "There was an entire war to settle this."

Daisy said, “Does that mean they’re not goin’ to speak English? That’ll make dinner a trick.”

Thomas sidled up to them, smirking. “James, if you’re done lecturing young Nugent on the history of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, could you help me set out the tea for Lady Mary?”

"Happily," Jimmy mumbled, still amazed. "This could take days."

In the hallway, Jimmy and Thomas glanced at each other and Jimmy snorted a laugh.

"You kept it to yourself, didn’t ya?" Jimmy said.

"Could say the same to you," Thomas pointed out. "Though, you shoot fish in a barrel enough times and you’re like to need new fish after a while."

"Sometimes I think you and I are the only sane ones in this house," Jimmy said.

"I don’t know about that," Thomas said smoothly. "Isis has a pretty good head on her shoulders."

* * *

"There’s Professor Bloom," Thomas was saying. "He’s chatty. He’s at Cambridge, but I think he’s on a sabbatical. By force, possibly."

Jimmy sat across from him at a late tea in the servants’ hall with Anna and Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes seemed concerned about the people descending on Downton. But Jimmy suspected it was mostly on Mr. Carson’s behalf.

"And Melinda," Anna said. "She’s a painter."

Mrs. Hughes said, “I hope she’s not one of those abstract types. The ones that say they’ve painted a banana tree and instead it’s just a yellow square? I don’t see the point in it.”

"And there’s Peter," Anna went on. "He’s a poet. Quite a dandy. And a lady novelist. I don’t remember her name. And an American novelist called Doyle. And a playwright…"

"Oh my," Mrs. Hughes sighed. "Do you suppose they all smoke opium and take snuff?"

"We can always send them to the boot room for that," Jimmy said. Everyone chuckled.

Anna stood. “I’m turnin’ in.”

"Not  _too_  tired?” Thomas said over his tea.

"Human bein’s get tired, Mr. Barrow," Anna said wryly. "Nothing abnormal about it."

Anna left and Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows. “What was that about?”

"London’s brought us closer," Thomas said.

"If you say so." She rose and nodded at them. "Good night."

Alone with Thomas, Jimmy felt the room was suddenly charged. Was this what it was always like for Thomas? Assuming Thomas was still interested. He was mainly going on Eddie’s opinion for that. Seven months ago Thomas had all but outright confessed his love; after the incident at the fair.

_He is still interested_ , Jimmy told himself. _I’m sure he is. He’s just gotten better at covering it._

"So did you make a formidable suitor?" Jimmy said as Thomas lit a cigarette.

"I didn’t have to fight any duels, if that’s what you mean."

"I’m sure you would’ve won if you had."

"Yes, London people don’t hunt," Thomas agreed. "And I have military training."

Jimmy crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Who was the German you mentioned?”

"Schiller," Thomas said. "He owned the nightclub. But I think he emigrated a long time ago. Before the war certainly. His sister didn’t sound German. He was a nice sort. Seemed to take a liking to me."

Jimmy’s stomach dropped. “Did he?”

"Heh," Thomas said, picking up on Jimmy’s meaning. "He wasn’t  _that_  nice.”

"Oh. Good. I mean…you know how Germans are. Starting wars and such."

Thomas looked amused, if not befuddled. “As you say.”

There was a pause in conversation and Jimmy felt like he was sitting in the cloud of a giddy euphoria. He gazed at Thomas who was tapping his ashes. “You’re hair’s got quite long, hasn’t it?”

"Has it?" Thomas reached back to feel it’s length. "I’ll have to go into Thirsk for a trim."

"I could cut it for you," Jimmy blurted.

"You cut hair?" Thomas said, almost fearful.

"Only at Lady Anstruther’s, Mr. Wilson, the butler taught us. He liked all the boys do have the same haircut. Bit of a nuisance really. But I could, yeh."

Thomas puffed. He didn’t look convinced. “Do I dare?”

"Do I dare disturb the universe?" Jimmy said, smirking.

"You’ve read the Eliot," Thomas said, surprised.

"Aye, it was short enough."

"Don’t pretend to be simple," he chided. "Did it make you peevish?"

"I’m well and truly peeved."

Thomas grinned. “I like the bit about the yellow smoke,” Thomas said. “Even if it does remind me of mustard gas.”

"I think it’s supposed to," Jimmy suggested. He motioned for the cigarette, and Thomas handed it over, their fingers brushing as he looked up in surprise. But Jimmy did smoke on occasion and he took a drag. "Maybe it’s creepin’ death that’s haunting him. Prufrock, I mean. Or some danger. Even if he makes it sound beautiful."

"That’s good," Thomas said. "Professor Bloom’ll like you."

"I dunno," Jimmy sighed. "Some of it I don’t gather at all. And other parts remind me of walkin’ about here at Downton." The smoke of the cigarette unfurled between them.

"Meaning?" Thomas said softly.

Even Jimmy wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. It was more of a feeling. “I s’pose it’s all these little things that don’t matter but they feel important. The teas and cakes and ices…

" And wastin’ time with all the manners," Thomas added. "But no one’s saying just what they mean. Or being themselves. Preparing a face and all that."

"Yeh."

"And when you do say what you mean," Thomas said, "everyone says you’re wrong."

"Exactly." Jimmy searched Thomas’s eyes in the quiet, dimly lit room, and wished he had the strength to "force the moment to its crisis."

But after a long and somewhat awkward pause, Thomas announced he was going to bed and the night ended.


	16. Chapter 16

Someone had blundered. God was the usual culprit, but Thomas was used to that. He was quite put out. Things had shifted. Jimmy was acting differently and Thomas didn’t know what it meant. He put it down to too much T.S. Eliot.

_Now you’ve gone and put the boy into a tizzy_ , Thomas said to himself.  _And isn’t that always the way with bloody art?_

"You seem distracted, Barrow," Lady Mary said.

"I’m sorry, my lady," Thomas said. "I’m quite well."

He was taking tea with her in the drawing room. But Mr. Carson was about, so he didn’t sit down. He was somewhere between serving her and being her guest, but the Dowager was there too and even she seemed confused by the subtext.

"Excuse me," the Dowager whispered to Lady Mary. "Why does Barrow have a cup?"

Thomas was standing next to Lady Mary who reclined on the chaise lounge. He looked to her for an answer.

"It’s something new I’m trying, Grannie," Lady Mary said.

"And what would that be, pray?"

"Anarchy," she said simply.

"I’m sorry, dear. I don’t believe I understand your sense of humor anymore."

"We’ve defined ourselves by the social order," Lady Mary said. "But now meaning comes from within. Experience and connection."

Thomas smirked into his teacup.

"If you’re going to talk nonsense, you could at least have served a pudding," the Dowager huffed.

"Barrow knows what I mean," Lady Mary said. "Don’t you, Barrow?"

"I believe Lady Mary is referring to something Professor Bloom said in London," Thomas supplied. "He’s a scholar, my lady. One of the visitors arriving tonight."

"A rogue’s gallery of modern culture, I’m told," the Dowager said darkly.

"If their credentials are to be believed, then yes," Lady Mary said.

"Far be it from me to disrupt your journey into eccentric widowhood," the Dowager said, "but might we maintain a shred of Downton’s sanctity, at the very least?"

"Yes, Grannie. I promise not to let them vandalize the family crest."

"What a comfort," the Dowager said, but she threw a worried glance in Thomas’s direction.

"Barrow won’t let them wreak too much havoc," Lady Mary said. "He acquitted himself quite well in London. He was the toast of our little salon. Like Baudelaire in the Belle Epoque."

Thomas wasn’t sure who Baudelaire was, but he knew when he was being condescended to. He had a lot sympathy for Lady Mary, but she was still…Lady Mary.

The Dowager said, “And I suppose the scullery maid spoke at length on Romanticism?”

_Old bag_ , Thomas thought.

"That would be Ivy, my lady," Thomas said. "She’s more of a Robespierre sort."

Thomas saw her stifle a laugh and she fixed him with bemusement. “You are well spoken, Barrow. And impertinent. Pass the biscuits.”

* * *

Mr. Carson, Thomas, Jimmy, and Alfred all served dinner to the guests following their arrival. Thomas stood at attention in the dining room in his white-tie livery, holding a bottle of wine. Lady Mary had reasoned with Mr. Carson. Many things would be different during the guests’ stay, but he at least wanted to serve in style, even if the visitors didn’t bother to wear dinner jackets.

"They’re artists, Carson," Lady Mary had said to him in the great hall. "They’re not supposed to follow convention."

"Beethoven was an artist, my lady," Mr. Carson said. "And  _he_  would have dressed properly for dinner.”

The guests remarked on the English interpretation of French cuisine as Thomas and Jimmy served wine and souffle. Then the two men took their positions with the table between them.

The bohemians were arguing about writing. Stephen Doyle was an author from the American south. He was a thin man in a ratty brown suit who smoked, even at dinner, from a long cigarette holder. His accent took getting used to. Every word he said unwound and took unexpected bends where Thomas’s Yorkshire ears weren’t expecting, and he talked so slowly that even the clocks seemed to pause when he opened his mouth.

"I have no disagreement with this stream of thought business," he said to Professor Bloom. "But I maintain that Joyce sorely needs an editor."

Peter the poet piped up, “So you’ve got a copy of  _Ulysses_?”

"I just may have mah paws on a few pages, yes suh," Doyle said, with a wink.

Thomas kept feeling Jimmy’s eyes on him, but when he looked up, Jimmy would glance away.

Peter said, “I hope you have the naughty bits.” Peter had finally been convinced to take off his feathered hat for dinner. Thomas thought his mass of blonde curls made him look a little clownish. Even if he was a dandy. Whatever a dandy was. He couldn’t have been more than twenty.

"Good God," Mr. Carson muttered.

"My goodness," Lady Mary said, laughing. "We haven’t even had cocktails yet."

Constance, the lady novelist said, “Speak for yourself.” She had a bob of mousy brown hair and her expression was perpetually sardonic. “I was half in the bag before breakfast.”

Thomas stopped paying attention. He was too distracted by Jimmy’s furtive looks anyhow. Was he trying to say something? Other than that it was miracle Mr. Carson hadn’t yet fainted and broken all the decanters? He met Jimmy’s eyes and rose a brow as if to ask him what the trouble was. Jimmy gazed at him with a serious expression. If Thomas didn’t know all too well that Jimmy was out of his sights, he would’ve thought that he was being  _looked_  at the same way he’d looked at Jimmy far too many times and the same way the scholar in London had once looked at him before asking him to take off his clothes and pick up a book. He had a mysterious feeling suddenly, as if they were the only two people in the room. Maybe something really was wrong. But for the moment, he could at least enjoy the ridiculous fantasy that Jimmy’s gaze was all desire and not an absentminded stare.

"James!" Mr. Carson said.

The spell broke. Jimmy jerked, almost dropping his platter and said, “Hum?”

Alfred stifled a laugh as Mr. Carson thundered, “The pudding!”

"Yes, Mr. Carson." Jimmy spun on his heel and headed downstairs.

* * *

Later in the servants’ hall, Ivy and Daisy nagged Jimmy to play the piano. They had already talked themselves silly about the guests. Particular interest was paid to Melinda, the painter, because she was the one with the pet monkey, which had arrived in a huge silver cage. Jimmy sat on the piano bench sorting through sheet music and Thomas sat at the table, watching with amusement.

"It’s strange not havin’ Mr. Bates around," Daisy said. Everyone else mumbled their agreement. "But I don’t miss Miss O’Brien much."

Jimmy played the opening bars of Beethoven’s "Symphony No.5" and they all laughed.

"Jimmy were a pippin at the pub, Mr. Barrow," Ivy said. "You shoulda’ seen."

"I’m sure he was," Thomas said. He saw Jimmy smile down at his music.

Daisy said, “Sing a tune, Ivy! If Jimmy plays.”

"I can’t sing here where everyone  _knows_  me,” Ivy said, blushing.

"Go on Ivy," Thomas prodded. "I’m not a harsh critic."

"Pull the other one," Jimmy said, and grinned lopsidedly at him. Thomas felt himself slip into that dangerous lightheaded state again.

Mrs. Hughes stood in the doorway and said, “Do sing, won’t you? It will do Mr. Carson’s heart good if he can hear it in his room. I don’t think he’s quite over the shock of our guests.”

"They’re alright sorts to me," Alfred said. "Even if they do smoke and chat about dirty books at the table."

Daisy whispered, “What kinda dirty books?”

"Never you mind!" Mrs. Hughes said, her voice rising an octave or two. "Jimmy, what’re goin’ to play?"

"I dunno," Jimmy said. "Any requests?"

"Play a love song, won’t ya?" Daisy said dreamily.

"Mr. Barrow?"

"Play what you like, I suppose," Thomas said.

"You Made Me Love You?" Jimmy said.

"Ooh, I like that one," Ivy said. "It’s saucy, in’t?"

"Or, "If I Were the Only Boy in the World?"

"That’s not how it goes," Alfred said with a chuckle. "It’s "If I Were the Only  _Girl_.”

"I think I’ve heard it the other way," Jimmy muttered.

"That’s the song Lady Mary was singin’ the night Mr. Crawley and William came back when they were missin’," Daisy said softly. She looked up at Thomas and he nodded, frowning. Mrs. Hughes’ expression faltered and she sighed into her tea. It was strange to think the others hadn’t been there. "Don’t play that. It’ll make us sad."

Jimmy ended up playing “Shine on Harvest Moon” and Ivy sang. They applauded when she was done. He knocked out a couple more songs and then sat at the table for cards after Mrs. Hughes took her leave.

"When shall I give you that haircut?" Jimmy said as he shuffled.

"You’re giving Mr. Barrow a haircut?" Alfred chuckled.

"Taking my life in my hands, I expect," Thomas said. He glanced up from his cigarette to see Jimmy with that twinkly eyed grin. It was annoying really. "I s’pose we could do it before breakfast tomorrow, if you don’t mind getting up before the cock crows."

Jimmy fumbled his shuffle and the cards flipped out all over the table. He’d gone red in the cheeks.

"Butter fingers," Alfred grumbled.

"Shut it," Jimmy mumbled, gathering the cards into a pile. "That’s fine then. I’ll knock on your door."

"You’ve been mad for days," Alfred said.

Ivy said, “He’s probably in love! Have you finally got a sweetheart, Jimmy? Is it Lizzie? Is it some other girl?”

Thomas thought it best to stay out of mixed conversations about Jimmy Kent’s love life. He only observed and smoked.

"No," Jimmy growled. "There’s no girl."

Daisy was leaning on the table. She glanced up at Jimmy and her mouth dropped open. Thomas happened to be watching when her expression shifted from passiveness to epiphany and she said, “Oh!”

"What?" Alfred said.

Daisy grinned at Thomas, her eyes bright. “It’s…nothin’. Nothin’! Only I’ve just remembered about…breakfast.”

"What about breakfast?" Ivy said.

"I’ll tell ya in the mornin’." But she kept throwing Thomas significant looks and he remembered what she’d said in the kitchen a few weeks ago.

_I think Jimmy fancies you._

Thomas glowered at her. Not that again. He shook his head as subtly as possible. She nodded. He pursed his lips. She smirked.

Jimmy said, “What’s goin’ on?”

"Nothing at all," Thomas said, getting up from the table. "Except that I’m off to bed because apparently I’m getting a haircut in the morning."

"We haven’t even played cards yet," Jimmy protested.

"Stuff it," Thomas said with a shrug. "I always lose at Honeymoon Gin."

* * *

Thomas had not expected Jimmy to knock on his door quite  _so_  early. He groaned and rolled out of bed, wincing as he did every morning, at the ruthless cold of the hardwood floor. Jimmy stood waiting in the hall, in shirtsleeves and suspenders, clutching a pair of scissors and a comb. Thomas had opened the door a crack and he scowled.

"You’re off your nut," Thomas said.

"Good morning to you too."

"I haven’t washed yet. Come back in twenty minutes."

Jimmy looked like he was about to say something, but Thomas had already shut the door.

Twenty minutes later, Thomas felt appropriately human. He met Jimmy at the door again, albeit grim-faced at the prospect of a haircut from an unproven source. Even if the source was Jimmy Kent.

"Did you clean your hair?" Jimmy said.

"Yes."

"With soap? It’s got to be clean."

Thomas’s hair was still wet and rebellious locks hung over his eyes. He ran a hand through it.

"It’s clean for God’s sakes," he said.

Jimmy picked up a chair and set it down at an angle, near the window. “The light’s better here,” he said.

Thomas took a seat with a sigh and watched Jimmy wield the scissors, suspicious.

"Don’t over do it now," Thomas said. "Just a trim."

"Calm down," Jimmy said. "I know I’m not shearin’ sheep."

He heard Jimmy take a breath in the quiet room and it suddenly occurred to him how intimate the situation was, even with the door open; the two of them alone in his room as the early morning sun cast everything in a soft sleepy light. He felt Jimmy’s fingers running through his damp hair and tried to think about cricket.

"Daisy and Alfred seemed to have worked things out," Jimmy said.

Thomas just said, “Hmm.”

"Who’d have thought? The two of them… After all this time. And they end up together."

"Well…not a a lot of choices in service.".

Jimmy combed his hair and said, “Maybe it’s fate.”

"Hmm."

He was certain Jimmy didn’t believe in fate. He wasn’t the type.

The combing felt lovely. Thomas barely noticed the eventual snip of the scissors. He stared down at his hands. He hadn’t put on his glove yet. Jimmy gently lifted his chin.

"Look up," he said softly. He kept touching Thomas’s neck to catch hairs as he cut them. He was working on the left side as Thomas absently imagined what it might be like to take Jimmy’s hand and kiss the inside of his wrist.

"You move a lot," Jimmy said, chuckling. Thomas had tilted his head without realizing it and Jimmy corrected him again, cradling his chin and nudging his head straight.

Thomas thought,  _I may seriously consider moving much more if you keep touching me like this._

As it turned out, he didn’t need to move at all. Jimmy kept turning his head this way and that; taking him by the chin or nudging his cheek. He brushed stray hairs off of Thomas’s neck and shoulders and took locks between his fingers to cut. Thomas decided he would not worry about it. It wasn’t his fault after all. Jimmy had offered the haircut and Jimmy was the one touching him. Thomas could jolly well take pleasure in it if he liked. And if his heart happened to swell up and burst right out of his chest, that was for the maids to worry about.

"Are you excited for the party?" Jimmy said.

"Should be fun," Thomas said. "Though if all the servants are going as guests, I have to wonder who’s serving."

"You could wear your dinner jacket. Even the bohemians will be wearing them."

Thomas had considered this, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “Might look I’m putting on airs.”

"It’s a party," Jimmy pointed out, running his fingers through Thomas’s hair yet again. It was maddening. "Why not put on airs? You should put it to use. If I had one, I’d wear it."

"Maybe I will."

Jimmy stood in front of him and trimmed his long bangs. Not  _too_  much, Thomas was glad to note. He looked Thomas up and down appraisingly and combed his hair a little forward and to the side, then the other way.

"You look quite different with your hair not slicked back," Jimmy muttered. "Younger."

"You saying I’m old?"

"No," Jimmy said with a shrug. "It looks good either way."

Jimmy stepped up close and tipped Thomas’s head up. He was giving him that look again; the one from dinner.

"Are you done?" Thomas said. He wasn’t even sure if he’d said it aloud.

"Almost," Jimmy whispered. He kept looking as if he wanted to say something, combing Thomas’s hair half-heartedly and gazing down at him. Thomas kept his face as blank as he could. This wasn’t fair at all. Jimmy was still holding his head up. Did he know what he was doing?

_Kiss me_ , Thomas thought.  _Just once._

"Thomas-"

"Have you seen my capuchin?" The voice was shrill and it made Jimmy jump and spin around, dropping his comb. Melinda Vyse, the painter, stood in the doorway. Thomas all but leapt out of his chair, almost knocking it over.

Jimmy said, “What?”

"What ya doin’ here?" Thomas stuttered and then got control of himself. Melinda was in her nightdress and a robe. She looked at them through the lens of a pince-nez she held up in front of her eye, staring owlishly. "I mean… You’re not allowed to be up here."

"Oh, I know, I’m very sorry. It’s just my capuchin." Melinda said. "The monkey, that is. Lester. He’s gone missing. He always comes back to me eventually, but I wouldn’t want to put the staff to any trouble."

"Your  _monkey’s_  loose?” Jimmy said.

Thomas put up a hand to stay him. “Right. I’ll inform Mr. Carson. But please resume your search outside of the servants’ quarters. And…try not to wake up the other guests, please, Miss Vyse.”

Miss Vyse nodded absently and wandered back the way she’d come, whispering, “Lester! Lester, sweetheart! Come to mummy!”

Thomas sighed heavily and tousled his own slightly shorter hair. He turned to Jimmy and shook his head.

"There’s a monkey loose in the manor," Jimmy said flatly.

Thomas was still riled up, but he composed himself and smiled.

"Now Jimmy, that’s no way to talk about Alfred."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love some of my characterization of Thomas in this series, tbh. I think I made him a little too soft. Also, Thomas likes to put on airs so I don't like that I had him hesitating. But I don't like to rewrite stuff I've already posted (outside of a couple words here and there) so oh well.


	17. Chapter 17

Jimmy couldn’t think straight. His brains were filled with Thomas. There was hardly room for anything else. He felt as if he were walking around in a perpetual fog of want. The only reason more people weren’t noticing his off-kilter state was because the guests were so much more distracting. Anna had found the monkey before breakfast. She’d stumbled upon it in the drawing room; just turned around while dusting to see a capuchin sitting on the piano and screamed. Thomas had fussed over her more than seemed strictly required.

At least there was the party to think about. The servants were in charge of setting up for what Lady Mary was calling a “grand soiree,” but they were attending instead of working for the night. Lady Mary had massaged Mr. Carson into her way of thinking by claiming it would be like the servants’ Christmas ball.

 _Yes, the Christmas ball_ , Jimmy thought.  _But with absinthe._

He suspected Mr. Carson was giving Lady Mary a lot of leeway because he felt sorry for her and didn’t know what else to do.

Most unusually, the party was taking place outside. Armies of the estate people bustled about hanging up Chinese lanterns and setting up white tents. Gardeners set out massive centerpieces on tables and carpenters came in from Ripon to build an outside bar, a short stage for a band, and a dance floor.

Friends of Lady Mary and her guests were coming from all around England for the party. Jimmy got the impression that older folk like the Dowager and Mr. Crawley’s mother were politely turning down the invitation, understanding that it was for the young people. Lots of them.

Jimmy kept himself busy running food, flowers, and liquor from the kitchen to the garden. At five o’clock, the servants were allowed to stop working and get ready. Then he could go to the party and Thomas would be there.

He was still thinking about the haircut. It had been mad. He wondered if Thomas had any idea how unnecessary it was to touch a person so much when you were cutting their hair. He didn’t even know what he’d been about to say to Thomas before that ridiculous woman had appeared, looking for her monkey. Maybe nothing. Maybe, “I love you.” He had no plan. Jimmy’s only strategy so far was a helpless urge to follow Thomas around like a puppy and feel out the lay of the land. So to speak.

Lady Mary insisted he borrow a suit from Mr. Branson’s closet for the party. It was dark grey with pin stripes, and Anna helped him hem the trousers. At six o’clock he was finally ready.

"Crikey," Alfred whined, waiting for him in the hallway outside his room. "How can someone take so long to fix their hair?"

"Some of us like to look presentable," Jimmy snipped. "You could’ve gone on alone."

"I don’t want to walk in by meself and look like a chump, do I?"

"Walking in with me won’t help you there."

Alfred ignored the insult and nudged Jimmy in the ribs. “There’s lots a’ girls comin’. Maybe you’ll find some London bird who likes footmen.”

"Maybe," Jimmy said, smiling tightly.

Beyond the house, there was a wide white archway and people had already started arriving in gowns and dinner jackets. Lady Mary had hired servants to serve  _her_  servants for the night. Jimmy recognized a young man from the post office in the village who nodded to them at the arch.

"There’s Daisy," Alfred said brightly. She was standing at a table with Ivy and wearing a smart red frock with a cloche. Jimmy had never seen her so dressed up. He looked around for Thomas, feeling nervous, as if he wasn’t just in the gardens behind the house but a whole other world.

He was offered a drink from a silver platter and he took a sip without even asking what it was. Gin, he suspected. It made him cough.

"Watch your liquor," Thomas’s voice said behind him. "We all know what happens when you drink."

Jimmy turned around and cleared his throat. Thomas had clearly been born to wear dinner jackets.

"Look at you," Jimmy said, for lack of something more clever.

"Might as well get some use out of it," Thomas said, fidgeting with his lapels.

"It suits you. You cut a dashing figure."

"Not so much different from livery really," Thomas muttered. "But Mr. Carson gave me the evil eye when he saw me leave."

"He’s not coming, is he?"

"I think he’s going to listen to the gramophone with Mrs. Hughes and pretend we’re all having a picnic."

Jimmy ate and drank as more people arrived. The lanterns were pretty as it got darker and candles twinkled on tables. At eight o’clock he could be found at a table between Thomas and Professor Bloom, who was already drunk and trying to tell Lady Mary what she should do with the rest of her life.

"Isn’t it obvious, my lady?" Professor Bloom said. "You shall be a patron of the arts!"

"The arts?" Lady Mary laughed. She wore a black fur around her shoulders. "I don’t know anything about art. Not as you think I do. I only know what I like."

"That’s all you need," Professor Bloom insisted.

"That and money, I expect?"

"Precisely!"

"And what about you, James?’ Lady Mary said. She’d clearly also had a bit to drink. "What would you do in my place?"

Jimmy glanced at Thomas who rose his eyebrows and smiled expectantly. “I suppose if I were you, I’d find a businessman to run Downton with Lord Grantham and Mr. Branson. Take your son and go to London where all the fun is, like he says.”

Professor Bloom laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. “You see! This one knows what he’s about.”

"That’s quite a plan." Lady Mary said. "Who shall I give my money to?"

"T. S. Eliot," Jimmy said, grinning. He said it to get a response and it did. Thomas and Professor Bloom laughed.

"A fellow expert on Eliot, I see?" Professor Bloom said.

"As long as I’m not the eternal footman," Jimmy said, quoting the poem.

There was a band playing. He danced with Ivy, Lizzie and Daisy. He danced with other girls who didn’t even introduce themselves, who then danced with Thomas. They left the dance floor to take a breather and Peter Faring, the dandy poet, grabbed both their hands to drag them to the bar.

"Absinthe!" Peter said. "We’ve just it from Paris. Come on, you lot!"

* * *

Two hours later, Thomas and Jimmy were following Peter and Professor Bloom beyond the gardens and into the maze of hedges.

Jimmy was feeling good.

"Where are we going?" He said.

"I don’t know," Thomas said, stumbling for a moment and righting himself. "Bloom says he wants to see the stars."

Jimmy stopped and pointed at the sky. “They’re right there, aren’t they? Have they gone?”

"Lester!" Melinda hollered from far away. "Lester, come to mummy!"

Thomas said, “The monkey’s got loose again.”

"It keeps  _doing_  that.”

Thomas swayed on his feet and glared at Jimmy. “Why don’t you go find a girl to dishonor?”

Jimmy wasn’t quite as drunk as Thomas. But he was still a bit drunk.

"Don’t want to." He shrugged. "They’re not my type."

"Who  _is_ your type?” Thomas demanded. “Mary bloody Pickford?”

"Hardly." Jimmy made a face at him. "And she’s married. I think. To…somebody."

"Douglas Fairlanks." Thomas said.

"Fairbanks."

"Fairthanks."

"You’re welcome."

"What?"

"It’s Douglas Fairbanks who’s married to Mary Pickford."

"How d’ya know that?"

"You’re pickled off your rocker," Jimmy said.

Thomas nodded. He might’ve been staring at Jimmy’s mouth. Jimmy wasn’t sure because he was staring at Thomas’s mouth. “Let us go then, you and I,” Thomas said loftily.

They stumbled their way past the hedges into a clearing. The music of the party was faintly playing and the moon was a sliver in the starry sky.

Jimmy said, “Where’d Peter n’ Bloom go?”

Thomas clutched Jimmy’s shoulder and said, “I don’t want to shock you, Jimmy. But I think they’re together, if ya know what I mean.”

"Ooooh," Jimmy said. "Huh."

"We’re everywhere," Thomas said dryly. "Lock up yer sons."

Jimmy laughed, feeling like anything might be possible tonight. Thomas took his hand and dragged him further into the clearing. There was no one in sight; just the massive galaxy over their heads.

"Look at the stars," Thomas said with a dramatic sigh. "I never notice the stars. Have they always looked like that? Are there more of em’?

"I think it’s the absinthe."

They stood, unwieldy on their feet, craning their necks. “I wouldn’t mind goin’ to the moon,” Thomas said. “There’s no people. You can do whatever you like and martians come to visit. For tea.”

"You’re a bit mad when you’re drunk," Jimmy said. "I’m just sloppy."

"No, you’re not," Thomas mumbled. "You’re charming and gorgeous and… I’m glad we’re friends." He hissed the s on "friends."

Jimmy swallowed and kept staring at the stars. Absinthe made his head buzz and his feet feel light, as if the two them might lift right off the ground and drift off into space.

"I’ll go to the moon," Jimmy said casually. "If it’s with you."

"You shouldn’t say things like that," Thomas said. "Might take it the wrong way."

Feeling the inexhaustible courage of drunkenness, Jimmy said, “Then take it the wrong way.”

Thomas didn’t seem to to hear him or understand what he meant. Jimmy gazed at him gazing at the stars.

"I do love you," Thomas said with a sigh. "More than’s reasonable. And ya know that, but I’m drunk so I get to say it just the once. Then you forget it in the morning." Thomas looked down and fixed Jimmy with the sort of tragic expression that he didn’t often reveal. He smiled, red-eyed, and shrugged. "So that’s something, isn’t it?"

Jimmy licked his lips. “I…I don’t want to forget it.” He swallowed and walked up to Thomas, putting his hand around his neck to pull him close. He paused for just a moment, in time to see Thomas’s eyes go wide before he kissed him; hard but not too hard. He pulled away. “I don’t  _want_  to forget it.”

Thomas at gaped Jimmy, all astonishment, before pulling him back and meeting his lips again. Even drunk, kissing Thomas was better than he had imagined it. He had tried on multiple occasions to remember the sensation of Thomas’s lips on his as he’d woken up all that time ago. It never worked and that was fine. He wouldn’t have been prepared for that soft wide mouth pressing and then prodding his open. Thomas was messing up his perfect hair. Jimmy clutched helplessly at Thomas’s dinner jacket, not quite able to comprehend the feeling of his tongue.

They stumbled and fell to the ground.

Thomas rolled them over and hovered over Jimmy. He kissed Jimmy’s neck and pawed at his chest. Jimmy fumbled with that perfectly tailored dinner jacket, which Thomas finally took off and threw on the grass before coming back down to kiss him again. He scratched at Thomas’s back and wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all.

"LESTER!"

Thomas scrambled off of Jimmy and stumbled to his feet. Melinda was running across the clearing and Jimmy rolled over to see that she was chasing the capuchin who was chasing a white rabbit bounding through the grass. Thomas trotted ahead and stopped. Jimmy expected him to be upset. But when he turned around, he was smiling.

"Jimmy, there’s a monkey chasing a  _rabbit_. Come on!” And he ran off.

Jimmy stood, blinking in the moonlight and shook his head. “Bloody monkey bloody stupid absinthe.”


	18. Chapter 18

"Mr. Barrow!"

Thomas woke up and a jolt of paint thundered through his head. Things were a bit blurry and he felt ill. Mr. Carson was standing over him, glaring. Thomas was in bed. Or at least on top of it. He was wearing his dinner jacket.  _Sans_  actual jacket. Where had that gone?

"A thick head is no excuse for tardiness," Mr. Carson said. "Everyone who went to the party is in the same boat this morning…excepting Anna, who had the good sense not to imbibe. And they are all at breakfast. Now, get  _up_.”

“‘Course, Mr. Carson,” Thomas croaked. He rolled, or rather, fell out of bed as Mr. Carson left. Someone had put bricks in his brain.

It was going to be a terrible day.

He didn’t even remember going to bed or returning to his room. Things were spotty. He remembered dancing. Lots of dancing. The food had been good. Then Peter Faring had said something about a green fairy and the rest was black. He’d had a lovely dream about rolling around with Jimmy and kissing in the grass. That had been pleasant.

Downstairs, Alfred, Ivy, and Lizzie were no less miserable than he. Daisy seemed to have escaped it. He sat down in front of Jimmy and nodded a good morning. Jimmy looked a bit anxious and fidgety, but he wasn’t hunched over his toast. Although he wasn’t eating it either.

"Good morning," Jimmy said quietly.

"I should say not," Thomas grumbled. "You don’t look the worse for wear anyhow."

Jimmy looked almost hurt. “Oh… No. Well, I didn’t drink very much of the absinthe-“

"We really drank  _absinthe_?” Thomas said. “Blimey, I was only jokin’ about that.”

"You… don’t remember," Jimmy said.

"I remember some things." Thomas lit a cigarette. Cigarettes and coffee. That was the only cure that had ever worked for Thomas after a rough night. "One minute I was dancing with Lady Edith, then Professor Bloom was tellin’ me a bawdy story about D.H. Lawrence and the next thing I know, I’m in bed."

"Oh."

"I didn’t do anything foolish, did I?" Thomas puffed. Jimmy looked troubled and thoughtful. "I don’t normally do anything when I drink that I wouldn’t do otherwise."

Jimmy smirked and took a tentative sip of tea. “That’s good.”

"Jimmy, what did I do?"

“ _You_  didn’t do anything. Really.” Jimmy wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “You were funny. We talked about the moon. And Martians.”

"Martians," Thomas said, raising his eyebrows. "I suppose drink brings about my sense of whimsy."

"Maybe you should drink more often. You could use some whimsy."

Thomas chuckled. “Well, there’s a monkey living in the house. I think I’ve got all the whimsy I can stand.”

"Yeh," Jimmy said darkly. "Stupid bloody monkey."

* * *

Thomas’s thick head eventually thinned out somewhat, but it was a rough morning made rougher when a hall boy came skidding into the servants’ hall on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Robbie’s dropped a chamber pot in the upstairs!"

"What?" Thomas had been going over a list of tasks to do that Mr. Carson had decided were under butler duties. He dropped it and stood just as Mr. Carson tromped in.

"Did I just hear what I think I heard?" Mr. Carson said.

"He was emptyin’ the water closet in the Blue Room, see, and he’s dropped it in the hall!"

"He shouldn’t have been in the hall! And not at this time of-" Mr. Carson shut his eyes for a moment and breathed deep. "Is there any… Is there any  _substance_ -“

"It’s all over!" The hall boy (a newer one whose name Thomas couldn’t place) was out of his head with panic. "Miss Anna’s gone to fetch the mop-"

"Oh, _she_  shouldn’t be doin’ it,” Thomas said, and went off to stop her.

It was not a pleasant task and Thomas was suddenly grateful that he was not a maid or a hall boy. He found Anna and gently took her by the arm into the Pink Room as Robbie, Lizzie and the aforementioned unnamed hall boy went about their unfortunate work, and Mr. Carson cleared the upstairs of guests, who seemed entirely nonchalant about the whole thing.

"You shouldn’t be doing that," Thomas said to Anna. "And ya know it."

Anna looked a bit green. “Yes, alright,” she agreed. “I know. It’s habit.”

"It’s not even your job," Thomas said, glowering. "How do you feel?"

"A sight better than you do, I imagine."

"That’s not saying much."

"I’m alright…" She winced and held a finger under her nose. "Oh, but the smell was…"

"Sit down," Thomas ordered. "You’re not to leave this room until they’ve cleaned up the mess. Miss Foster won’t return until they’ve done anyhow."

Anna sat on the bed and held a hand over her stomach. “I’m alright, Mr. Barrow. “

"If you’re not more careful, I’ll be forced tell Mrs. Hughes whether you like it or not."

"That’s fair, I suppose," Anna said.

"You’re a lady’s maid. Tend to Lady Mary and that’s all. Is there anything you need?" Thomas said. "I don’t know much about this sort of thing."

"I have everything in hand." She frowned at him. "Were you so worried when Lady Mary was expecting?"

"Lady Mary doesn’t work fourteen hours a day and live in a ratty cottage," Thomas snapped. He swallowed, a little embarrassed by his own emotion. Sometimes the differences between the servants and their masters drove him mad. Funny, he usually felt jealous of the ratty cottage. That just showed how little he had himself. "And I’m only concerned for the sake of keeping the staff up to snuff."

"Of course," Anna said knowingly. "Watch yourself, Thomas. We might be friends."

"Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves," Thomas said dryly.

"And it’s not a  _very_ ratty cottage.”

* * *

At the servants’ dinner, everyone was still talking about the party. Thomas was informed that he had rescued the capuchin and brought him back to Melinda Vyse at two o’clock in the morning. Then he got tangled up in a ridiculous conversation with Alfred because Jimmy was being quiet.

"But don’t they like us?" Alfred was saying.

"Some of them do, some of them want us right out of it," Thomas said. "Which is what’s happening."

"But England’s better than Ireland," Alfred said, as if it should be obvious.

"You can’t…" Thomas sighed. He rose an eyebrow at Jimmy. "Are you going to help me here? I’m knackered."

Jimmy was smiling like he had a secret. He didn’t look like he was thinking about Irish independence. He said, “Can I have word with you after dinner?”

Thomas was taken aback. Jimmy sounded so serious. “Yes. We’ll go to Mr. Carson’s office. Lady Mary wants him in the drawing room.” Jimmy nodded and contemplated his potatoes.

Of course, Mr. Carson’s sensitive ears heard them from the other end of the table. “If it’s important, James-“

"It’s nothin’ Mr. Carson," Jimmy said quickly. "A small matter. I wouldn’t want to bother you with it."

Mr. Carson turned a wary eye on Thomas. “I trust  _you’ll_  tell me if it’s a small matter or not?”

"Of course, Mr. Carson." He glanced at Jimmy who was still staring at his food as if the potatoes were enacting a stage play.

When dinner was over, Jimmy hopped up. Alfred stopped Thomas to ask him a question about linens and then Daisy asked him a question about sherry stocks on Mrs. Patmore’s behalf. Finally, he was free and Jimmy followed him into Mr. Carson’s office. Inside, Jimmy closed the door behind them and tapped it thoughtfully. “He’ll be gone for a minute, won’t he?”

"I assume so. Lady Mary wants to bother him," Thomas said. "What’s the matter?"

Jimmy turned around; his eyes flitting from Thomas to the floor to the wall and back.

Thomas was starting to get worried.

"Something did happen. Last night." Jimmy said, speaking carefully. "But it wasn’t you. It was… It was me."

"What’ve you done?" Thomas’s head when in all sorts of directions; something scandalous with a girl was his first thought. A wild hair of an idea said it had something to do with Lady Mary.

Jimmy took a step forward, skittishly eyed the door, and took another step. Thomas’s heart, though it was broken, stubbornly picked itself and began to trot; as near as Jimmy was to him.

"I did this…" Jimmy leaned in and Thomas’s first thought was that he was going to whisper something terrible in his ear. But then Jimmy was softly kissing him and before Thomas could even begin to process (much less to respond to)  _that_ or the way Jimmy was touching his cheek like it was made of crystal, Jimmy stepped back, and it was a good job too, because the moment he did, the door opened and Mr. Carson walked in.

"Lady Mary has requested your presence," Mr. Carson said to Jimmy. "I think she wants you to play the piano again. Which is a new habit I find unquantifiably disturbing. Are you done here?"

Thomas had a particular talent for thinking on his feet, even when his conscious mind had loaded the wagonette and skipped off to faraway lands, and so he said, “Yes. James was just asking about new…” He picked a word at random. “Livery.”

"New livery?" Mr. Carson frowned and glanced back at Jimmy, who had yet to take his eyes off Thomas. "Off  _you_  go.”

Jimmy nodded and backed out the door, paused in the hall for a moment, and finally turned to walk away.

"His livery looks fine to me," Mr. Carson said. "But take a closer look, if you think it’s warranted."

Thomas blinked dumbly at Mr. Carson and said, “Uh…yes. I will. Thank you… Mister…” What was his name? It took him a second. “Carson.”

In the hallway he stood, just breathing. He remained there so long, Mrs. Hughes stopped on her way by him.

"Mr. Barrow?" She trilled. "Have you lost your way?"

He opened his mouth and looked at her. What was there to say?

"Life is strange, Mrs. Hughes." He said.

"And getting stranger all the time," she said, rolling her eyes. "But the capuchin’s locked up tight tonight. So let’s count today as a victory."

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

After Jimmy kissed Thomas, he played piano for Lady Mary and the guests for a while, during which he was subject to the creative vocal stylings of Professor Bloom and pestered for downstairs gossip by Lady Mary. He hoped she did decide to become a full-time patron of the arts, because her hobbies were starting to get intrusive. And then there was the matter of reliving the kiss over and over in his head, as much as he liked, as he pressed cool ivory keys. It had been even better than kissing Thomas drunk. It had felt wholly real.

When he was finally released from entertaining, he returned to the servants’ hall, where Thomas was sitting at the table furiously smoking. Alfred, Daisy. and Ivy were there playing cards. Thomas sat up straight when Jimmy sat down in front of him. It was hard to believe he’d spent most of the day hung over. He certainly looked bright-eyed now.

"Hello," Thomas said simply.

Jimmy couldn’t help himself. He grinned like a fool. “How was your day?”

Thomas said, “A hall boy turned over a chamber pot. Anna is being impossible. Lady Mary’s friends are drinking up all of the liquor in Yorkshire, and I had a pounding headache for about six hours.”

"Sounds rough."

"I think it might’ve been my best day in twelve years at least."

Jimmy felt a flutter. He pursed his lips as if seriously mulling this over. “Only twelve?”

"I have to set the bar somewhere, don’t I?"

Jimmy laughed. He pointed behind him at the yard and rose an eyebrow.

"There are three hall boys in the yard having a wrestling match," Thomas said.

"So our sort would fit right in then?" Jimmy said.

Thomas gave him a long look and finally said,”Jimmy, what’s  _happened_?”

He was supposed to explain it here? He nodded towards Alfred and the girls, all sitting right there at the end of the table. Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Alright," Jimmy said. "It’s… See, I want to play cricket."

"Cricket," Thomas repeated.

Jimmy sighed. How to explain this in metaphor in mixed company? Not that the others would probably catch on, if he was just a little bit vague.

"Let’s say," Jimmy said in a hushed tone, "that you’ve never played cricket. But… Well, maybe there was a sort of…suspicion. Deep down. That you…wanted to play cricket. But it’s frowned upon, see? So you never gave it a chance, even though you weren’t havin’ any fun playing…other sports, if ya like. But then you get to know a really good cricket player. And then you realize, you prefer cricket. And obviously, you want to play it with your favorite cricket player. So, if ya follow, what I’m tryin’ to say is that I want to play cricket with you."

Thomas sucked in his cheeks. That was often a bad sign. “You’ve only just realized you…want to play cricket. And with me?”

"Yes. Sort of. It’s hard to explain."

"This would’ve been useful a while back."

"Yes, obviously," Jimmy said, in a rushed whisper. "But I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know  _myself_. And that mad witch-“

"Alright," Thomas said, raising his hand. He tipped his heard towards Alfred and the others. Thomas looked equal parts amused and aggravated. "You know how I feel about you and…cricket. That never changed. But… I need to know straight off if… I mean, is it just because you want to play cricket with anyone or-"

"No, I want  _you.”_ Jimmy didn’t even mean to put his hand atop Thomas’s on the table.

"Blimey," Alfred said, not looking up from his cards. "Just play cricket with him, Mr. Barrow. If it’ll shut him up."

"They take their sport seriously, don’t they?" Ivy said.

"They ought to," Daisy said. She sounded pleased. "It’s a quite serious sport is cricket!"

Thomas smirked and rolled his eyes in Daisy’s general direction. Jimmy gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go and demanding a cigarette. They gazed at each other the way, Jimmy thought, they had never dared before.

"I suppose," Thomas said, "I’m not to go on a nighttime walk any time soon?"

"You’ll have to go through me first," Jimmy said.

"Don’t tempt me, James."

The cigarette smoke spiraled around them and the rest of the room disappeared in Jimmy’s mind.

"Why do you call me James, when you know I prefer Jimmy?"

"I call you James when I’m feeling saucy."

"Something to look forward to then."

"Among so many."

They talked and flirted shamelessly until Mr. Carson roused them to go to bed. In the hallway of the men’s quarters, they loitered, reluctant to part.

Thomas nodded at his bedroom door. “We can’t…” He whispered. “It’s dangerous.”

Jimmy hadn’t assumed there would be any funny business in the bedrooms, or at least not right away. Thomas had every reason to fear a repeat of the last catastrophe. Jimmy nodded, still a little let down. Where  _would_  they be alone together? He hadn’t really thought about it.

"So…" Jimmy whispered. "Shake hands?"

Thomas smiled, holding his hand out and Jimmy clasped it in his as if he were shaking the hand of anyone, but he couldn’t seem to let go. If they went on like this, they would be kissing again. It was maddening.

"Goodnight, Thomas."

"Goodnight, Jimmy."

"Goodnight."

Jimmy glanced down and regarded Thomas’s knuckles in the darkness and, dangerous or not, quickly pressed his mouth to the back of Thomas’s hand before letting it go and disappearing into his room.

* * *

Jimmy woke up too early. It felt like Christmas day. He needed an excuse, and grabbed the H.G. Wells from his nightstand. He dressed quickly and knocked on Thomas’s door, shifting from foot to foot. Thomas answered, looking much more cheerful than when he’d woken him for the haircut.

"Good morning," Thomas said, smiling sleepily. He was still in his pajamas. "Are you giving me a shave this time?"

"I’m here on business, I’ll have you know," Jimmy said, holding up the book. "I came to return this."

"Well, if you’re here on business…"

Thomas opened the door and left it open, to be safe. Jimmy ambled in, eyeing Thomas up and down. Thomas’s tousled just-woken-up state did not help matters in the arena of safety. He plunked down on the floor in front of the bookcase.

"Did you read  _The Time Machine_?” Thomas said. He sat down in a chair next to Jimmy. “That’s my favorite.”

"I did," Jimmy said. "Gave me a nightmare about Morlocks."

"It’s a frightening if you take it seriously," Thomas admitted. "But I fancy the idea of going to the future."

"You would never want to go back?" Jimmy said. "See Shakespeare or something?"

"Stuff Shakespeare. Forward, always forward. But before the Morlocks show up. I’d go a hundred years into the future and see what’s happens. See if…people are different."

Thomas reached down to take the book and Jimmy grabbed his hand, kissing his palm.

Thomas sighed and Jimmy felt the breath on his neck. Thomas whispered, “The door…” But he ran his hand through Jimmy’s hair.

Jimmy refused to let Thomas’s hand go and traced circles into his palm, shifting on the floor.

"I woke up in the middle of the night," Thomas said. "I thought I’d gone mad or I dreamed it. Or that somebody put wormwood in my tea and I was seein’ things."

"Do you know, you ran away from me at the party to chase the capuchin? After I kissed you?" Jimmy said. "And you don’t even remember."

"I left  _your_ lips for a bloody monkey?” Thomas whispered. Jimmy turned his head to look up at Thomas. Which was probably poorly thought out. His eyes were such a light blue in the morning light.

"Yes," Jimmy said, with mock sadness. "You’re very stupid."

"But you like me anyway?"

"I believe in charity."

Thomas smacked him lightly in the head. A footstep echoed in the hallway and Jimmy let Thomas’s hand go. He put the book back in its place.

"You do have a lot of  _Tarzan_ ,” Jimmy said. “Is that because it’s about a bloke runnin’ about in his knickers?”

"Why? You want to borrow it?"

Alfred popped into the doorway and frowned at them. “What you doin’ in here now?”

"I’m borrowing a book," Jimmy said, already annoyed.

"Well, you’d better get on."

"I’ll be there in a minute."

Alfred huffed and walked off. Jimmy reluctantly got to his feet. This was no way to start a courtship. He stood too close to Thomas and pursed his lips.

"I’ll see you downstairs," Thomas said. "Thanks for waking me up."

"Any time," Jimmy said.

Thomas made a show of fixing Jimmy’s tie and straightening his waistcoat. Jimmy squeezed his hand briefly before making his way because they were breathing each other’s air and he couldn’t take it anymore.

Downstairs, the conversation was safe as houses. They talked about H.G. Wells, which led to a lengthy discussion amongst everyone at breakfast about time travel. Typically, the younger people wanted to go to the future, and the older ones wanted to see the past.

Alfred said, “But if you went back in time and changed somethin’, would it change the future?”

Ivy was setting tea on the table when she said, “What if ya stopped yourself bein’ born?”

"Then how did ya get back in time in the first place?" Jimmy said. "Wait…"

"That’s what you call a paradox," Thomas mumbled.

Everyone sat quietly for a full minute until Mr. Carson finally said, “This is nonsense.”

Alfred said, “Won’t be able to sleep now.”

"Now see what you’ve done, boys?" Mrs. Hughes said to Jimmy and Thomas. "With all your fanciful talk?"

Under the table, Jimmy was nudging Thomas’s feet.

* * *

Melinda Vyse was giving what amounted to a lecture on one of her paintings. The capuchin sat on her shoulder and everyone paid more attention to it than to her speech. Thomas stood by the door as Jimmy served the tea. The painting was abstractionist; the kind Mrs. Hughes disliked. Miss Vyse called it “Woman and Man in Wild Flowers.” To Jimmy it looked like a bunch of red swirls and some orange splotches, although he liked the colors alright.

"It’s very good, Melinda," Professor Bloom said. "I particularly like the way her arm draws your eye to the center."

Jimmy glanced at Thomas who nodded with a rise of his eyebrow and he wondered if they were both thinking the same thing: What arm?

Lady Mary was sitting on the chaise. “I confess, I don’t understand abstraction very well. I’ve always been fond of the Impressionists. Monet…”

Peter sat in an armchair stacking biscuits on a plate. “But Monet is so safe. I prefer sensuality. Power. Gauguin, for example.”

"I agree," Professor Bloom said. "That’s what I like about this work."

"I don’t see the sensuality," Constance Foster, the novelist, said tiredly. She was scribbling in a book.

Professor Bloom walked over to the painting to demonstrate. He pointed to the oblong orange bits at the bottom. “See here? How their legs writhe? While around them everything is in bloom…”

Jimmy lowered his tray so that Mr. Doyle could take a teacup and squinted at the painting. Suddenly he saw legs writhing where before there had been only orange.

"Oh," he said.

Peter perked up and said, “Do you like it, James?”

"Oh, well…" Jimmy shrugged. "I see the legs. I think."

"Yes!" Professor Bloom said. "And his chest is a perfect V drawing down to…his  _area_ , you see. And then as his arm draws across her chest, they almost converge…”

Jimmy took his position back across from Thomas, feeling a bit warm. He glanced at Thomas who seemed as composed as ever, his eyes were fixed on the wall.

"There’s a masculine energy to it, I suppose," Miss Foster said. She tore herself from her notebook and looked on the painting with her watery eyes. "Even with the woman. She’s ever so angular… Decisive."

"That was intentional," Miss Vyse said. "I’m glad you saw it."

"I do try," Miss Foster said dryly.

"And here," Professor Bloom said, pointing to deep red circles. "Though their lips do not meet, you see the primitive urge, this  _desire._..”

Jimmy swallowed and glanced at Thomas again. Thomas was frowning at his shoes.

"The tension, you see, comes from this blue line here. It…" Professor Bloom gesticulated. He couldn’t seem to make a point while sitting still. "It divides them, even as they are unavoidably drawn to come together, and the flowers here, encourage this…inevitable ecstasy. The wild fervor of the red, always signifying  _passion_ … In this case, as you say, Constance, a sublime masculine sort of energy.”

Lady Mary said, “James, might you see if there are some more of these biscuits in the stores? We seem to have run out.”

"Yes, my lady."

Jimmy marched out of the room. He didn’t look at Thomas on his way out. No, that would have been a mistake. He felt flushed. Mrs. Patmore lent him the key. He was in the pantry picking out the box of biscuits when Thomas appeared in the doorway.

Thomas said, “Uh, Lady Mary sent me to fetch cigarettes…”

"Oh." Jimmy glanced around the pantry. He had never seen cigarettes in the food stores. The food stores, which were next to the kitchen where there were people.

"We keep them in the wine cellar," Thomas said.

_The wine cellar!_

"I’ll help you then."

"Thank you."

Jimmy nodded and squeezed past Thomas in the doorway, giving him a significant look. In the narrow passage to the cellar, he heard Thomas’s footsteps behind him and his heart raced with the anticipation. At the bottom of the stairs, he ducked into a shadow. Thomas reached the bottom of the steps and paused, glancing around.

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy stepped out and grabbed his hand, yanking Thomas to him and into a passionate kiss. Color swam in Jimmy’s head. Red for Thomas’s gorgeous and talented mouth. He turned them around and didn’t particularly  _mean_ to shove Thomas into the wall, although Thomas made no complaint. Orange the color of Poppies for kissing Thomas’s neck and for the sound of Thomas’s breathless agreement, his fingers tangled in Jimmy’s hair.

"I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages," Jimmy mumbled.

For the first time, Jimmy saw the crack in Thomas’s veneer since he’d made his intentions known in Mr. Carson’s office. “Have you?” He said, his voice cracking slightly.

"Well, what do you think?" Jimmy breathed, kissing Thomas along his jaw line. ‘“I’ve told you… I want to play cricket."

"I’m still in a daze." He cupped Jimmy’s cheek and nuzzled his neck. "I hardly know what I’m doing today."

"Don’t do anything…" Jimmy kissed his neck again, slipping out his tongue to taste the warm skin there and the slightest sheen of sweat. Feeling deliciously brazen, he whispered, "Let me seduce you."

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

"Do you think I’m a good footman, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas was sitting at the servants’ hall table the next day, ostensibly reading the newspaper. Lady Mary and her guests had all gone off to “commune with nature” in the woods. There had been mutterings of paganism at breakfast until Mr. Carson put a stop to it.

"Of course," Thomas said, all innocence. Jimmy was leaning backwards against the table next to him, gazing down with his absurdly impish grin.

"If you were a Lord, would you hire me to work under you?"

There were people in the hall. Ivy and Mrs. Hughes were at the other end of the table. Thomas scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Obviously. Although…" Jimmy raised his eyebrows. Thomas said, "You might find it arduous to work under me. I think I should be a very demanding master."

If “cricket” could be played with the eyes, Thomas imagined he had just batted a century.

"I wouldn’t mind," Jimmy said. "I’m a hard worker, Mr. Barrow."

"You’re an up and comer, alright."

Ivy and Mrs. Hughes left the room and the temperature rose several degrees.

Jimmy said softly, “Have you been at the jam?” He reached over and slowly ran his thumb along Thomas’s lower lip. Thomas let his mouth fall open. He thought he might melt right into the floor.

_Let me seduce you._

Thomas was fairly certain there were no better words in the English language. Stuff Shakespeare indeed. He was not used to good things happening, much less the wildest fantasy he could’ve conjured from his tortured psyche. Well, perhaps not the _wildest_  fantasy. His wildest fantasy was for Jimmy Kent to say, “Thomas, I love you. You will never be alone again.” But he did not expect this. He was not entirely convinced Jimmy wasn’t just sewing his particular oats. Yet that was more than he ever could’ve hoped for. And perhaps he was wrong. For as many times as Thomas had been crushed and decimated by love, or the lack of same, he had never learned not to plunge head first into its stormy depths, as if jumping from a sinking ship.

Thomas Barrow was a terrible romantic.

Jimmy’s thumb was soft on his lip and still tasted of sugar from the tea. Thomas forgot to breathe. A bell rang from the front door.

"You should get that," Thomas said, biting on Jimmy’s thumb.

Jimmy nodded. “Hmm. When are you goin’ to ring  _my_  bell?”

"You really are the worst sort of flirt."

"Funny, I’ve been told that before," Jimmy said, finally striding out of the hall.

* * *

They found another reason to go to the wine cellar.

"We could get an afternoon off?" Jimmy suggested in between kisses, sneaking his hand under Thomas’s waistcoat.

Thomas ran his mouth along Jimmy’s cheek, feeling just the lightest bristle of beard. “And go where?”

"A pub?"

"That’s not suspicious. Two blokes staying in a pub for an afternoon… And everyone knows us around here."

"The bloody woods then," Jimmy breathed.

Thomas would have to remember to fix Jimmy’s hair. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands out of it.

"Pagan."

Actually, it wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever heard.

"Bastard," Jimmy whispered, clawing at Thomas’s collar to tongue his neck. "Why do we have to wear so many clothes?"

"To prevent just such depravities," Thomas said.

Jimmy licked his lips and said, “Like this?” He slipped his hand into Thomas’s trousers and held him in his hand.

Thomas had not at all been expecting this and he buried his head in the crook of Jimmy’s neck as Jimmy stroked him. He groaned, helpless, and bit Jimmy’s shoulder, the cloth of his livery stiff and tasteless. Jimmy leaned into him as he brought him off but nudged his head back.

"I want to see you," Jimmy whispered, kissing him softly. "I want to see when you…"

"Jimmy…"

"Open your eyes."

"Uh…"

"Thomas, open your eyes…"

Thomas opened his eyes and grabbed Jimmy’s other hand, kissing his palm and trying to keep from making too much noise.  It was better than anything he’d ever done with Eddie. He looked at Jimmy who wore an expression Thomas was sure he’d never seen before; something so open and genuine. There was no smirk here.

Thomas kissed Jimmy’s fingers as he looked at him. “I like the way you look.” Jimmy said. Thomas felt himself tip over the edge. It was so much. Just so  _much._ He highly resented the tear that slid down his face. “It’s beautiful…” Jimmy said.

When it was over, Jimmy took his hand out of Thomas’s trousers, looking about uncertainly. Thomas slumped against the wall. “They’ll be missing us,” he panted. “Upstairs. God…” Jimmy gave Thomas a devilish look and licked his fingers. “Bloody hell.”

"It’s a messy business, isn’t it?" Jimmy said when he was done. "You should change your trousers. Say you’ve spilled wine."

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “What ya doin’ to me?”

Jimmy kissed him and said, “Everything.”

* * *

"And, eh…what about Keats?" Peter said.

Lady Mary and her guests were at dinner.

The Dowager was there too.

And Mr. Branson was back.

It was a very odd group.

"Ah, yes," the Dowager said as Jimmy served bread to Professor Bloom. "I can appreciate the gathering of rosebuds as much as the next person. But one wonders what the Romantics contributed to society. Other than to say, my goodness, what a pretty flower."

Thomas’s lips twitched as he stood next to Carson in front of the wine. Lady Mary didn’t seem to know what she wanted anymore. Sometimes she treated her servants like servants and sometimes she treated him them like those sort of lower society friends that one might mock behind their backs. That was Thomas’s theory anyway. But being the grieving widow, he would give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she had taken him to London and brought him a dinner jacket (the actual jacket of which, Jimmy had thankfully retrieved in the grass and returned to him).

"Melinda was showing the most wonderful painting yesterday," Lady Mary said. She looked a bit addled. "It was a  _love scene_ , Grannie.”

Thomas saw Mr. Carson go slightly pale and the Dowager coughed in surprise.

"Uh, do you know much about Irish writers, Professor Bloom?" Mr. Branson said loudly. He seemed to have been taking classes in subject-changing from Lady Grantham.

Professor Bloom said, “Joyce, of course. I’m sure a man like you would find Yeats fascinating”

The Dowager contrived to become interested in Miss Vyse’s pince-nez. Thomas would never even have imagined that all these people could exist in the same room.

"I don’t want to talk about bloody poetry!" Lady Mary said to Peter suddenly, and far too loud. "It doesn’t  _mean_ anything. It’s not real. I’m talking about real connection. You don’t understand all.”

"My dear," the Dowager said, almost in a hiss. "You forget yourself, I’m afraid."

"She’s soused," Constance said helpfully. "I am as well. If it makes you feel any better. The revision is going poorly."

"I learn more from servants," Lady Mary went on, "then I do from ruddy poetry. Dear Barrow, for instance." Thomas looked up in alarm.

_What’ve I ever done to you?_ He thought. He glanced up at Jimmy, who was going around serving sauce. Jimmy grimaced in his direction. What a terrible idea for a dinner.

"He almost lost his hand in the war," Lady Mary said. "He understands about the upside down world-"

The Dowager cleared her throat. “Mary, perhaps-“

"Do you understand what society has done to him, Grannie?"

Mr. Carson said, “Uh, my lady-“

"He has to hide who he is everyday just because-"

_Damn!_

"Oh!" Mary said.

Jimmy had tripped and his bowl of lukewarm sauce was all over his lady’s teal frock. She stood uncertainly, holding the dress away from her skin.

Mr. Carson said, “James! Oh, dear.” His tone of relief did not escape Thomas.

"I’m so sorry, my lady," Jimmy said, kneeling to collect his bowl. "I stumbled."

"Mary, go and change your dress," the Dowager said. "I believe we’ve all eaten our fill anyhow. Perhaps it’s time for a nice cup of tea? Preferably one with sleeping pills dissolved in it."

Downstairs, Thomas found Jimmy in the cleaning supply pantry trying to get sauce out of his livery. He took a bottle of soda crystals off the shelf and motioned for Jimmy to hand him his damp cloth.

"Well, aren’t you the clumsy one?" Thomas said, spilling some crystals on the rag.

"I don’t know what happened," Jimmy said shrugging. "Must’ve taken a bad step."

"And one so conveniently timed."

"I’ve never misstepped serving in my life," Jimmy said dryly.

"I’m sure Mr. Carson knows it was deliberate."

"I hope that’s a good thing."

Thomas dabbed at the grease spot on Jimmy’s shirt. “You saved my skin,” Thomas said, his cheeks warming. “I’m not sure the old lady would give a whiff either way and the bohemians wouldn’t, but still… Honestly. Thank you.”

Jimmy glanced sideways at the closet door and kicked it shut. He backed Thomas up into the shelves and kissed him. “You’re welcome.”

Thomas thought he could almost read his dirty thoughts. Jimmy leaned in again for a long, slow wet kiss that rattled Thomas’s brain.

"There’re people on the other side of that door," Thomas whispered.

"I know," Jimmy said, pressing his lips under Thomas’s ear.

"And there’s no lock on that door."

"I know…" Thomas felt a nibble on his earlobe.

_God help me._

"Jimmy, I have only so many pairs of laundered trousers."

"Let me come to your room tonight," Jimmy whispered.

Thomas knew it would come back to this eventually.

"There’s no lock on that door either."

"We’ll be quiet."

"If we’re quiet, we’re done somethin’ wrong."

Jimmy chuckled into his neck and kissed his way back to Thomas’s lips. “Let me come to your room tonight.”

"Mmm…"

"Let me come to your room tonight."

"Jimmy…"

"Please let me come…"

"Alright."

* * *

Jimmy sat next to him at the servants’ dinner and no one seemed to notice that his left hand was under the table through half the meal. Thomas noticed this because it was grasping his thigh. That did not help matters.

"Are you really going to teach Jimmy how to play cricket, Mr. Barrow?" Alfred said.

"I know how to play cricket," Jimmy snapped.

"Do you?" Thomas said.

"Well, I’ve  _thought_  about it a lot,” Jimmy said. Thomas tried not to look too absurdly happy about that seemingly innocent remark.

"You played well enough at the last house match, James," Mrs. Hughes said.

"There’s always room for improvement though, isn’t there, Mrs. Hughes?" Thomas said.

"Actually, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you," Jimmy said. "I don’t know if I’d play better as a bowler or a keeper. Which position do you prefer, Mr. Barrow?"

_Bloody Jimmy Kent._

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek and made an odd sniffing noise. It was probably that he’d laughed more since he’d become friends with Jimmy than in the whole of his life. He tried to cover his guffaw with a cough.

"I think it’s useful to acquire a talent for both positions," he said in his wisest voice.

"I do try to be flexible."

"That’s useful. You never know when you’ll be dealing with a sticky wicket."

"Oh, I hate a sticky wicket."

"Nobody likes a sticky wicket."

"Are you two quite done?" Mrs. Hughes said, looking vaguely annoyed.

"Sorry," Jimmy mumbled. "We feel very strongly about cricket."

Alfred piped up, “Mr. Barrow is the best player for the house team.”

"I’m pretty good, I don’t mind sayin’ it." Thomas said.

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

Jimmy and Thomas stayed up late in the servants’ hall, since they were waiting for everyone else to go to bed and sleep anyhow. They played cards and smoked and talked about films they’d seen.

"Do you fancy Douglas Fairbanks?" Jimmy said.

"Did you see  _The Mark of Zorro_?” Thomas said, lighting up.

"No."

"You’d fancy him too if you had."

"But you don’t fancy him more than me."

"Never more than you."

"I’ll bet you say that to all the boys."

"Only the ones who are my type," Thomas said, sitting back with a satisfied grin.

"And that is…?"

"Dashing. Rich. Preferably titled."

"Well, I’ve got half a guinea and my mother used to call me Little Lord Fiddlesticks.”

"Two out of three isn’t awful."

"How dare you."

"Oh, I dare, James."

James sat forward and leaned on his hand, searching Thomas’s eyes. Not for anything, exactly. But it was a mystery how he felt more himself around Thomas Barrow now than anyone he’d met. Around him, Jimmy was the most clever, the most kind, and the most alive that he had ever been. And Thomas seemed to be so clearly the most clever, the most kind, and the most alive person he knew. That probably wasn’t true for either of them. Not logically. But that was love, he supposed. He hoped it was true for Thomas.

"What were you like as a child?" Jimmy said.

Thomas’s expression faltered slightly, but he didn’t look terribly sad. “I s’pose I was quiet and serious. ‘Til I learned to fight and scrape.”

"You’re a survivor," Jimmy muttered. It was so obvious, it almost didn’t bear saying out loud.

Thomas just tapped his ashes in reply. “And you were popular, weren’t you? The charmer? Always ready with a card trick or a bawdy limerick?”

"It gets you by. People like to be entertained,” Jimmy said through the smoke.

"Don’t they though."

They were both survivors, Jimmy realized. They just had different methods.

They were roused to go to bed and exchanged knowing looks when they parted in the hall. Jimmy washed his face. He cleaned his teeth and combed his hair, feeling like a ruddy girl about it. As if Thomas and he were going out on the town. Nights on the town didn’t usually include wearing pajamas. He sat on his bed, tapping his foot for what felt like forever; until the men’s quarters were as silent as a grave and he was sure everyone else was probably sleeping.

At Thomas’s room, he knocked softly and let himself in, shutting the door behind him. His eyes went straight to the bed. He had imagined he would see Thomas there, reading; the way he’d pictured it over and over in his mind before he even knew he was in love. But Thomas was standing at his bureau, just closing a drawer. He smiled at Jimmy in the reflection of the mirror.

"Do you want a drink?" Thomas said. "I have a little whiskey stowed away…"

"No." Jimmy went to Thomas, but he took his time.

_This should be savored_, he thought.  _Everything should be savored, because it can so easily be taken away._

"Cigarette?" Thomas said, turning around. He was wearing his pajamas, which meant a short-sleeved shirt and bare skin. Actual glorious bare skin. Jimmy took the wounded hand and Thomas didn’t flinch when he kissed his palm and worked his way up his wrist.

"No."

"Tea then?” Thomas said. “Warm milk?”

Jimmy walked them backwards to the bed and pulled at the hem of Thomas’s shirt until he took it off himself. Thomas was pale and dusted with dark hair. Jimmy kissed him and scratched lightly at his chest.

"No." Jimmy pressed on Thomas’s shoulder so that he would lie back on the bed and Jimmy crouched over him.

"You’ve come to borrow another book then?" Thomas muttered between kisses. "Jules Verne or…Sherlock Holmes…"

Jimmy kissed his collar bone and that spot he was starting to adore under Thomas’s ear.

"No…"

Thomas caressed Jimmy’s cheek and he let his smirk go. “Tell me what you want,”

Jimmy wondered if Thomas could see his cheeks burning red in the dim room.

"Tell me what you want…"

Jimmy turned his head slightly so that his lips ran along Thomas’s fingers and looked up almost shyly when he whispered, “I want you in my mouth.”

Thomas’s eyes went nearly black and Jimmy kissed him like he was going off to war. He was distracted for a bit just by Thomas’s chest; the discovery of being able to touch so much of him with his hands or his lips or his tongue. That nipple, that hip bone, that fascinating trail of hair calling him down to Thomas’s prick… How had he ever not known that he wanted men and this one in particular?

Jimmy hadn’t done this for Eddie, or anyone. But he took Thomas into his mouth without hesitation. Thomas made a noise like a yawning lion and Jimmy looked up to make sure Thomas saw him. He was careful with his teeth and slowly swirled his tongue, grasping Thomas’s hips as he arched.

"Jimmy…"

It didn’t escape Jimmy’s notice that Thomas held out for admirable amount of time, but he was wholly aroused himself and rapidly losing sanity. Yet even he was surprised when, as Thomas let go, he met his own release.  _That_  was disappointing. He coughed, but swallowed without even thinking about it.

_Salty._

He crawled up on top of Thomas and propped himself up, contemplating Thomas’s face.

"You look all disheveled," Jimmy whispered. He reached out and fondled Thomas’s lips. He was particularly fond of Thomas’s mouth, which now looked swollen and pink. His hair was in his eyes. "Unkempt and all askew…"

"Well, you look a pot of honey on a Sunday," Thomas muttered. "You’re…golden and… sweet and delicious."

They shared a cigarette, crowded together on Thomas’s bed.

"You’ve really never down that before?" Thomas said.

"No…obviously." Jimmy bit his lip. "Was it alright then?" It felt like a lie, even if it was technically true. He would have to tell Thomas about Eddie eventually. It hung over his head like one small dark cloud in otherwise beautiful sky. But not now. Not while things were so rosy and exciting.

"Bit more than alright," Thomas said wryly.

"Good," he said simply.

Jimmy sat up and turned sideways on the bed. “Thomas… Why have you have never been angry with me? I mean about everything that happened?”

"Oh…" Thomas motioned for the cigarette and looked away into a shadowy corner. "Well, you were conniving. And too ambitious. And you nearly destroyed my life."

"Yes…" Jimmy felt guilt like a shard of glass sticking into his spine.

"That’s nothing I haven’t been and done myself." Thomas shrugged and sucked in his cheeks on the puff of the cigarette. "I was more angry that _I_  was taken in by O’Brien. I should’ve seen it coming. But I wanted to believe her so badly…”

"I’m sorry."

"You’ve said so before," Thomas pointed out. "We’ve made peace. Quite a bit of it. I’m…sorry I kissed you in your sleep."

Jimmy couldn’t help it; he laughed, but he tried to stay quiet.

"Oh, I see how it is now," Thomas said lightly. "You have your way with me and then you mock me." Jimmy had to cover his mouth for laughing and Thomas handed him the cigarette. "Where  _did_  you come from? Wonderland?”

"Neverland," Jimmy said. "I’m a lost boy and you’re Captain Hook."

"Nearly."

Jimmy kissed him softly. Thomas looked like he was about to say something before he stopped, looking briefly pained. “Oh, why are you unhappy?” Jimmy said. “Don’t sulk when I’m kissing you.”

Thomas wouldn’t meet his eyes. He gazed at the ceiling. “You’re young is all… Once you’re my age, you see the ends of things when you’re in the middle of them. Or even the beginning.”

"Why should there be an end?" Jimmy said, feeling a little panicked. "There won’t be on my account.”

"You say that but…"

"I do say that, because it’s true." Jimmy didn’t know how to reassure him except by kissing him with purpose and turning over so that he was lying on top of Thomas. He reached down to touch him, but Thomas stayed his hand.

"Wait," Thomas said. "I think it’s about time you had a go, don’t you?"

* * *

"Does Thomas have a paramour?" Lady Mary said.

Jimmy fumbled with his tray. Lady Mary was taking afternoon tea in the garden where Melinda Vyse was painting. Hercapuchin was rattling his giant silver cage. Miss Vyse stood in front of a large easel, looking puzzled, as Lady Mary sat at the table.

"A… I’m sorry?" Jimmy stuttered.

"Does he have someone that you know of?” Lady Mary sipped her tea. No one had said a word about her outburst at dinner. Jimmy wondered if she even knew what she had almost said. “It’s not quite fair is it, the way you servants live? It must belonely. I know married couples like Anna and Bates are rare.”

Jimmy’s mind raced. Obviously, Lady Mary knew about Thomas. Was she really asking him if he was a with a man? Or did she assume that Jimmy didn’t know…? This was all too complicated, and the rules of servants and mistresses were further muddled by the way Lady Mary was treating them lately.

"I don’t believe so, my lady," Jimmy said. "Mr. Barrow’s a solitary sort."

"He’s been so helpful to me, you know." She patted Jimmy’s hand and stood. "And so have you been, James. You’re entertaining. Not just when you play piano. But you humor my curiosity about the downstairs world. Thank you for that."

"You’re welcome, my lady."

She was always asking about what went on downstairs. He never told her anything important.

Miss Vyse was painting a rose. Or at least it looked almost like a rose to Jimmy. She hadn’t explained it yet. Lady Mary strolled up to the easel and contemplated the work in progress. It looked about half-finished.

"You all fascinate me so much…" She frowned and tilted her head.

Miss Vyse blurted, “I’d like to sketch the two of them, but I shouldn’t want to be a bother.”

The capuchin screeched in his its cage.

"Who are you talking about, Melinda?" Lady Mary said..

"James and Thomas," she said, as if it should be obvious. “Or Barrow, as I’m supposed to call him. Fancy meeting someone by his first name in London as a lady’s suitor and then suddenly he’s the a butler. You’re quite dramatic, Mary. You should’vebeen an actress. Anyhow, I came upon them that morning Lester was missing. James was giving Barrow a haircut. It was a beautiful scene, the way the light came through the window. Two working class men and this sort of domesticity…?  The astonishing intimacy of it all. I’m sure I wouldn’t have done it justice. Nearly made me want to go back to realism.”

There was an uncomfortable pause during which Mary cast him a look that made him fear for his own livelihood; intense interest. Jimmy laughed awkwardly and said, “Ah, yes. I did give Mr. Barrow a haircut, my lady. But I’m sure it was nothing so picturesque.”

Lady Mary said, “I didn’t know the two of you were such close friends.”

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

"I’m starting to wish Lady Mary wasn’t so concerned about my welfare," Thomas said.

They were standing in the yard and probably too close together. It had been a good day, despite news of this worrisome conversation with Lady Mary and Miss Vyse. All morning Thomas had felt like a candle that had finally been lit. There was still his own voice in his head, telling him that Jimmy didn’t love him. That likely nobody would. Then Jimmy would toss him a secret smile from across a room or find an excuse to touch his hand and the voice turned to the static of a gramophone record.

_Maybe…maybe…_  a softer, younger voice echoed.  _Maybe this time._

He imagined himself asking Jimmy over and over: “Are you in love with me?”

The question was not uncalled for, but whenever he thought of asking, the louder, older voice warned him that it would scare Jimmy away. If Jimmy loved him, he would’ve said so. He felt he was standing on a precipice between bliss and despair. But then, that was always how it was with him and men.

The Duke of Crowborough had once said to him in that euphoric blur of a London season, “It’s all adoration or disdain with you. Find a middle, Thomas.”

Thomas had never managed to suss that one out.

"Could you say something to her?" Jimmy said and shook his head. "No, probably not."

"She does like me," Thomas said. "I don’t think she’d get us into trouble."

"Maybe not on purpose," Jimmy snorted. "But she’s a chatter when she’s squiffy and no mistake.”

"I suppose we could start watering down the wine," Thomas said lightly.

"She said we fascinate her."

"We amuse her," Thomas said, putting in plainly. "So do the bohemians. It’s all a picture show.”

“ _I’m_  not a picture show,” Jimmy grumbled.

"No," Thomas agreed. " _You_  are a song and dance man.”

"I can’t actually sing," Jimmy said. "I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket."

"There’s something Jimmy Kent can’t do?" Thomas said dryly. "I’m shocked."

"Well, only the one." He smiled cheekily at Thomas. “I certainly know what you can do now. Every time I look at your mouth…”

Thomas pursed his lips and cast Jimmy a saucy side-eye. “You…what?”

"I don’t know," Jimmy said, blushing. "I can’t say exactly. Can I come over tonight?"

"Oh?" Thomas said. "And whatever happened to watch yourself, Thomas. I’m only lookin' out for ya?”

"That was different."

* * *

That evening, Thomas was inspecting the upstairs rooms while Lady Mary, a befuddled Tom Branson, and the bohemianswere carousing in the saloon. As he worked, he allowed himself the pleasure of playing in his mind the memory of Jimmy’s mouth all over him, his ecstatic gasps, and his ever appealing manner of being both brazen and innocent when they were alone together. He heard Sybbie and Mattie crying from the nursery. Anna was supposed to be watching them (“For the practice,” she had said, with a wink to Thomas) because the nanny was vising her ill mother.

"Oh, good," Thomas mumbled, as he strode into the nursery, "crying children. Anna?"

Mr. Mattie was standing up in his crib, holding out his arms and screaming. Thomas rolled his eyes and patted the boy’s shoulder absentedmindedly. “Oh, what’ve you to complain about? You’re goin' to be an earl, do be quiet.”

Thomas stepped around the crib and was so surprised, he nearly tripped over the white rocking pony; Miss Sybbie sat on the floor -red-face and balling- next to Anna, who lay motionless.

"Anna…" Thomas wasn’t prone to panic. He knelt down to Anna and slapped her face lightly. She stirred but didn’t speak.Sybbie reached for him and he sighed heavily, hefting the child in his arms and dashing to the room bell. “Shhhh shh shh.” He patted Miss Sybbie on the head. “Ugh, please stop makin’ that horrible noise.”

He rang the bell twice and headed for the door, carrying the little girl. “Shh shh, Miss Sybbie. I know. Your father was a chauffeur, it’s very upsetting.”

In the hallway, he found Mrs. Hughes carrying linens. “Mrs. Hughes!” He called sharply. “Anna’s fainted. Call Dr. Clarkson. Or Mrs. Crawley if we can’t get him-”

"Has she? Oh dear… But for a swoon? Is that necess-”

"She’s expecting," Thomas barked. "She’s with child."

"Oh my God…" Mrs. Hughes spun around and trotted back to the stairs.

Thomas returned Miss Sybbie to her crib and Mrs. Hughes came back to assure him that Dr. Clarkson was on his way.

"What happened, Mr. Barrow?" Mrs. Hughes demanded as he knelt to pick Anna up in his arms.

"I don’t know, I found her like this," Thomas said. He mumbled obscenities, straining under the weight of Anna, and trudged back out into the hall to take her to Lady Mary’s room. Mrs. Hughes followed, carrying Mr. Mattie who, Thomas was annoyed to hear, had gone peacefully silent.

"If you found her, how do you know she’s expecting?" Mrs. Hughes said, her voice rising.

Thomas grimaced and said, “Oughtn’t you take care of the tots?”

Mrs. Hughes did not look happy, but she let him go and went back to the nursery.

Thomas set Anna down on Lady Mary’s bed just as she stirred again. He stood over her, crossing his his arms and glaring.

"Thomas?" She mumbled. "What’s…"

"You fainted. I think."

"Oh, the baby!" Anna’s hand went to her stomach. "I don’t know… Has something happened? Did I fall or…" She burst into tears.

"Oh…" Thomas sighed. “Don’t make a fuss about it. Are you in any pain?”

Anna tried to compose herself. She sat up and sniffed. “Just my head a bit.”

"Then you’re probably alright. Careful…" He put out a hand as if to stop her from moving and she took it.

"I miss  _John_ ,” she cried, and started weeping again. Anna clutched his hands and Thomas glanced around for help that wasn’t there.

"Uh… He’s not dead, ya know. He’s just in France."

Mrs. Hughes appeared in the door and said, “Lizzie’s got charge of the little ones. Dr. Clarkson should be here shortly.” She glared at Thomas. “I’ll deal with you later, Mr. Barrow.”

"She told me not to say anything," he said, nodding at Anna.

"Oh yes, it’s not his fault," Anna said. "I wanted to wait for Mr. Bates’ return."

"Mr. Barrow should’ve known better,” she said firmly. Her expression quickly turned to sympathy and she came to the bed, resting a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You may go, Mr. Barrow. We’ll be just fine.”

Anna let go of his hand. “I wasn’t  _worried_ ,” he said quickly.

"Alright," Mrs. Hughes said.

Thomas waited outside the room for Dr. Clarkson to come and when maids kept passing by to ask him about Anna, he told them she’d had a spell, but she was fine and that anything else wasn’t their business. Dr. Clarkson finally arrived and Thomas let him in with a nod, and wished he had a cigarette. He was annoyed at the niggling feeling in his stomach. Anna didn’t even like him. It wasn’t fair that he should care so much. Finally Mrs. Hughes came out and Thomas glanced up expectantly.

"You’re still here?" Mrs. Hughes said.

"I was guarding the door," Thomas said. "Lizzie and Ivy came up. They’re like vultures if there’s a bit of excitement."

"Well, Anna’s fine. Dr. Clarkson said a fainting spell or two isn’t uncommon and she’s surely overworked. You reallyshould’ve said something.”

"It wasn’t my business, was it?" Thomas argued. "I told her a dozen times to take it easy-”

"Yes. She said you’ve been very kind." Mrs. Hughes appeared pleased with herself.

Thomas frowned. “Did she?”

"Sometimes, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes said, clasping her hands in front of her, "I like to remember what you were like when you first came to Downton…and for several years following. And what you’re like now."

"And how does that comparison stack up, if I may ask?"

She patted him on the arm. “Let’s not jinx it, shall we?”

* * *

That night in the servants’ hall there was cards, flirting, and tales of Downton before Jimmy had arrived. When Jimmy came to his room, Thomas was ready. Enough with this being seduced stuff. Jimmy had been the aggressor of affection so far, and that had been a revelation. But it was about time for young Mr. Kent to get his due, Thomas thought. Jimmy greeted him with a smile and when the door was closed behind them, Thomas grabbed his hand and pulled him close for a long, luxurious kiss that ended with Jimmy’s shirt on the floor.

"Well, hello," Jimmy said, smirking

"Do you want to try something…new?" Thomas asked carefully.

“ _Yes_.”

They stumbled to the bed; clothes flying in every direction. By the time they were naked, Thomas couldn’t help but feel a little insecure. Jimmy was so young and fit.

Jimmy lay on his back and watched as Thomas kissed a trail up his body. Just as Thomas was starting to wish there wasn’t moonlight streaming through the window, Jimmy said, “Gorgeous. You’re  _gorgeous._..”

"Me?" Thomas bowed his head and mumbled into Jimmy’s hip. "You’re the pretty one."

Thomas glanced at Jimmy, who looked serious. “Thomas, the reason I didn’t respond to your advances before was never because you aren’t handsome.” Thomas bit his lip and pulled himself up, so he was lying on top of Jimmy and they were face to face. He fell into a daze staring at the beautiful disheveled boy with lust in his eyes. Jimmy said, “I want to tell you something… I don’t know what you’ll think.”

Now hardly seemed like the time for confessions, but Thomas said, “What is it?”

"I saw you and Eddie. Together. Once." Jimmy swallowed and rolled his eyes. "I…followed you. One night. I wanted to see what you did."

Thomas was flabbergasted. And even more aroused, if that was possible. But he had done something similar when he was young and it seemed almost like a right of passage for their lot.

"And…?" Thomas said, unsure of what he was even asking.

Jimmy ran his hands up Thomas’s back. “It kept me awake nights. It made me feel…” Thomas looked at him questioningly and Jimmy arched into him. “Like this.” Thomas groaned, dragging his mouth over Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy whispered, “I couldn’t stop thinking about…”

"What?" Thomas murmured. "Cricket?"

"You."

Thomas nearly froze up in astonishment at that bit of information, until Jimmy brought his head up for another kiss. “I want you,” Jimmy whispered. “I do.”

Thomas’s head spun madly. In the darkness, he fumbled to grab for the little jar of petroleum jelly he had placed on the nightstand in fond hopes that Jimmy Kent would be just so agreeable.

"What’s that for?" Jimmy said.

"It’s for me, it helps," Thomas said quickly. He was trying to covertly prepare himself and keep things interesting at the same time, but Jimmy kept grabbing for his busy hand as they groped each other.

Jimmy pulled out of a kiss and whispered, “I get it. I get what you’re doin’. I’ll do it.”

"You don’t-”

"I want to. I want to do everything with you." Jimmy sat up and pulled Thomas forward to straddle him. It took a bit of somewhat awkward direction and then Jimmy’s fingers were up inside Thomas, who clutched Jimmy to him, sweating bullets already.

"Slowly…" Thomas gasped. "Yes…like that…"

"Thomas, please," Jimmy breathed. He raked his teeth along Thomas’s shoulder. " _Please_ …”

"Wait…"

When Thomas thought he was ready, he nudged Jimmy’s arm. He took a deep breath and tried to relax as much as possible; he hadn’t bothered with something this  _involved_ since the Duke. But he wanted to be face to face and he wanted to be in control. With his knees on either side of Jimmy’s hips, Thomas gently sat into it. Jimmy fell back with a gasp and arched. Thomas was delirious, but he managed to notice that Jimmy was about to make a loud noise. He clapped his good hand against Jimmy’s mouth; a jolt of fear almost ruining everything. Jimmy clutched Thomas’s arm and bit his hand hard, whimpering. Thomas set his other hand against Jimmy’s chest for leverage and rocked slowly.

“MMMPH!” Jimmy had tears in his eyes. He kissed Thomas’s palm, panting. “I didn’t know it… I didn’t know it…” He babbled softly. He took Thomas’s prick in his hand. Thomas nearly crumbled.

"Jimmy…"

That was all it took for Jimmy, who arched again, so hard this time that Thomas almost fell off the bed and then slumped back into the pillows; a mushy pile of Kent. “I’m…sorry, I’m sorry, I meant too…” Jimmy licked his lips, mumbling. “I wanted to last…”

Thomas chuckled down at him. He was just so bloody endearing.

"It’s alright, love," Thomas whispered. Jimmy lay trembling and breathless, his hand resting lazily on Thomas’s erection. If it were anyone else, Thomas might have been almost annoyed, but he couldn’t stop staring at Jimmy’s face in wonder.

"No, wait…" Jimmy sat up and came out of Thomas with a comical bit of sound, pushing him to his back so he braced against the foot of the bed. When he took Thomas into his mouth, Thomas stopped chuckling. Jimmy’s mouth embraced him and he curled his tongue around Thomas once, twice…

Thomas clenched his fists and stifled a cry, which was so difficult it almost made him nauseous.

"Don’t fall asleep," Thomas said a few minutes later. Jimmy was resting his head on Thomas’s chest. They were holding hands. "I know it’s awful, but you’ll have to go back to your room in a minute or we”ll both drop off and be done for.”

"I know. I… I didn’t know it would be like that. I thought it would good but…" He looked up at Thomas, his eyes wide. "I can’t  _believe_  it.”

Jimmy kissed him sweetly and the soft young voice inside Thomas’s had whispered again, _Maybe…maybe this time…_


	23. Chapter 23

Spring seemed to passing quickly to Jimmy’s mind. At breakfast one morning, he suddenly remembered the watch he’d brought Thomas for his birthday and smiled to himself. It wouldn’t be awkward at all to give it to him now. With little surprise, he realized he was the happiest he had ever been, and that even accounted for the nights when one or both of them was suddenly spooked that they would be found out, and retired to their separate rooms. Sadly, this happened more often than not and usually there was no discernible reason for it. Sometimes it was because Carson had merely risen an eyebrow at something Thomas had said to Jimmy or because Lady Mary was always asking questions. Several times, Jimmy had gone with Thomas and the softest noise even from far away frightened them so much, he went scuttling back to his bed.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t even remotely fair and had given rise to an angry little stone of resentment in his stomach for Anna and Mr. Bates and their cottage; for Lady Edith and her editor in London; and for Alfred and Daisy who would doubtless marry and live on a farm together.

Other times the reality of how he’d threatened to ring the police on Thomas so long ago sent a chill up his spine. He still felt wretched about it, even if Thomas said all was forgiven. If they were found out at Downton, he honestly didn’t think Lord Grantham would stand for anything that severe happening to them. But they would doubtless be sacked. By itself, the thought that one or both of them could be sent to prison at all for how they felt about each other or, at least, what they _did_ together alone in a room, boggled his mind and made him so perturbed that Thomas would ask him what was wrong. He would smile and say it was nothing.

But even considering all that, he was still in love.

And that was something, wasn’t it?

Thomas was reading a letter over his porridge. The man was stellar at appearing unflappable, but Jimmy had gotten pretty good at reading his expressions and Thomas was clearly put out.

"Who’s that from?" Jimmy said, ignoring Alfred who was pestering him about cricket.

_I should never have come up with that metaphor_.

"Uh…Felix Schiller," Thomas said. "The night club owner."

"The German?" Jimmy said. "What’s he writing to you for?"

"Nothing important," Thomas muttered. "He said he wanted to come to Lady Mary’s party, but he was in Berlin. He’s got a club there too. And he’s opening one in Brighton."

That didn’t really answer his question, but it would look odd if he pressed it at breakfast. He still wondered if this Schiller had some interest in Thomas, but Jimmy wasn’t worried. Even if the man was probably dashing and rich.

_But not titled_ , Jimmy thought with some amusement.

* * *

The afternoon was busy because Lady Mary had decided to have a proper fox hunt with the bohemians.

No one thought this was a good idea.

Jimmy suspected even Isis knew better.

Regardless of the collective doubt, Jimmy was later outside batting the dogs away as he took trays to the guests on horseback. It wasn’t until he saw Eddie Redman striding confidently into the fray that he remembered there would be horse grooms involved. Eddie tossed him a grin and a cheeky wink. Jimmy nodded and turned away quickly, his eyes seeking Thomas, paranoid that maybe he had seen the exchange. But Thomas was talking to Carson. Jimmy served a tea cake to Professor Bloom, who kept him long; rambling about primitive man and the urge to hunt. When he turned around, Eddie was talking to Thomas.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes.

_Hello._

Alfred appeared next to him, repeating everything Carson had already said about the danger of taking a bunch of decadent lushes out for a hunt. Jimmy didn’t hear a word he said.

Eddie was talking to Thomas for a long time. Jimmy squinted at them, frowning. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Thomas. But he  _certainly_  didn’t trust Eddie. Eddie touched Thomas’s arm. Just put his hand there, like it was nothing. Jimmy glowered and took a tentative step forward. On top of everything else, he couldn’t even be properly jealous like any man would be, because it would look funny.

"Are you listening?" Alfred said.

"No."

Eddie shook Thomas’s hand and they both smiled warmly. Eddie grinned and bit his lip.

_Ugh_ , Jimmy thought.  _Why don’t you just attack him with your lips, Eddie? Trollop._

It was easy to forget the injustice of it; he himself had been with Eddie and still hadn’t told Thomas.

Finally, the bohemians rode away and Jimmy was sure he heard Carson mutter a prayer under his breath as he watched him go. Thomas found Jimmy and they walked inside together.

"What did  _he_  want?” Jimmy said.

Thomas glanced around to see if anyone was near and said, “Actually I wanted to talk to him… I left things on a sour note with him before London. Mainly over you. He’d asked about you.”

_Ah. Yes._

Guilt twisted in Jimmy’s stomach. He would tell Thomas. Eventually. It wasn’t as if they’d been together then anyhow.

"He’s an awful flirt, isn’t he?" Jimmy said, more harshly than he intended.

"Have you ever heard of pots and kettles?" Thomas said, raising an eyebrow. "There’s an old saying…"

"I’ve never been like  _that_ ,” Jimmy hissed. “He was crawling all over you.”

Thomas stopped short in the hallway to the downstairs and ushered Jimmy into a dark corner. He crossed his arms and nodded at Jimmy. “Are you… Are you jealous?” He asked like it might be ridiculous.

"What do you think?" Jimmy said, with a snort. "Of course I am, you noodle. I’m also jealous of Douglas Fairbanks and Tarzan now it comes to it. But they don’t live here, do they?"

Thomas smiled in a way that made him look about six years-old. “Oh.”

"You’re really daft sometimes, you know." He said with a shake of his head, and made his way down the hall.

* * *

By some miracle, nobody was killed on the fox hunt. Although, a bullet fired by Miss Foster grazed Mr. Doyle’s leg and he was sent to Dr. Clarkson.

Late in the evening, Thomas was called away to “entertain” Lady Mary, which lately meant answering rather patronizing questions about the working class. She was keeping him for hours, it seemed. Jimmy sat around in the servants’ hall, trying to read  _Women in Love_ , but it was no use.

"Soppy stuff," Jimmy muttered. He tossed the book on the table and tapped his fingers. He was about to start playing the piano when Alfred found him and told him he was wanted upstairs in Peter Faring’s room.

"For what?" Jimmy said, getting to his feet.

"I don’t know," Alfred said with a shrug. "It was Lady Mary told me. Somethin’ about shoe shinin’."

Jimmy huffed in disgust.

_Oh I see_ , he thought.  _They don’t want valets, but we footmen’ve got to shine their shoes. So much for all their societal progress._

Outside the bedroom of Mr. Faring (or Peter the Ruddy Dandy Poet as Jimmy had taken to calling him), he straightened his livery. He heard a bit of a scuffle inside and opened the door. It took him a moment to realize what was happening.

In the corner, Peter was right up against Thomas, who was pushing him away. “You forget yourself, Mr. Faring!” Thomas said.

Jimmy said, “What… Get off him!”

Peter glanced at Jimmy and his eyes went wide, his silly mop of blonde curls almost rising in fright. He jumped away from Thomas and held his hands up.

"I…uh… I’m very sorry," he said. "It’s a misunderstanding. I’m really so sorry."

It finally occurred to Jimmy to shut the door and he did so quietly. Thomas smoothed his hair back and caught Jimmy’s eye, for reassurance it seemed. Well, that certainly wasn’t necessary. It had been obvious enough what was going on. Jimmy gave him a look as if to ask if he was okay and Thomas nodded. Jimmy didn’t move. He clenched his fists, adrenaline coursing through him. He took a breath. Beating a guest to within an inch of his life probably wouldn’t help their situation any.

"I understand," Thomas said smoothly. "We won’t speak of it again."

"Honestly," Peter went on. "It was Lady Mary’s idea in the first place. She said… She said you might want company. She made it clear what she meant. She knew I was coming up here with you, in fact."

"She never did," Thomas muttered in disbelief.

"Lady Mary?" Jimmy said. "She’s the one who sent  _me_  up here.”

They all gaped at each other.

"Well, chaps…" Peter said, laughing softly. "Believe our lady’s having a bit of fun with us. Ha…ha ha."

"I don’t think it’s fun," Jimmy said darkly. "What did she think she was doing?"

"That doesn’t matter now," Thomas said. "Mr. Faring’s apologized. It’s quite alright. And none of us will say a word about it to anyone else, will we?"

"I’m certainly not going to say anything," Peter said. "Leo’s frightfully jealous. The Professor, I mean. And he’s already upset about the horse groom…"

Jimmy would’ve burst into hysterical laughter if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on not popping the poet in his refined and angular chin.

"What about him?" Peter said, nodding at Jimmy.

"He’s not going to talk," Thomas said.

Peter looked back and forth between them, finally noticing just how angry Jimmy was. “Oh… Oh, are you two together? Oh, that’s a relief. Just as far as the police are concerned.” He said to Jimmy, “Also, please don’t sock me. I’m a bleeder.”

"Will you just get out of here, you incredible  _fop_?” Jimmy said, losing all sense of propriety.

"Of course, yes," Peter agreed. "Although…it is my room-"

"Get. Out."

"Of course." Peter left while staying as far away from Jimmy as was possible.

Jimmy started to say something but Thomas held up his hand and said, “Not here. Outside.”

"Are you  _alright_?”

"I’m fine," Thomas said. "He only tried to kiss me. Funny though, it’s usually me doing the assaulting."

"Not funny at all."

"Outside."

Thomas left the room and a minute later, Jimmy left. They met in the yard over cigarettes.

"Well, what are we going to do?" Jimmy demanded. "This can’t stand. She’s only going to get worse."

"I don’t even see what she was doing," Thomas said, brow furrowed.

"I think she was trying to stick us together," Jimmy sighed. "She sent me up there to find you two and be jealous. She’s been a bit fixated ever since Miss Vyse told her I gave you a haircut."

"Because of a  _haircut_?”

"And…maybe she sees something between us. I don’t know." Jimmy smoked and glared at the ground. "She’s gone right round the bend and no mistake. She doesn’t even know me, Thomas. Not really. For all she knows _I_  could’ve rung the police!”

"You know, in the old days I would’ve gone through someone else," Thomas said, stroking his chin. "Suggest to his Lordship that Lady Mary’s been awfully tired and maybe she needs a rest. In this case, preferably in an asylum. Or O’Brien would’ve said the same to Lady Grantham. But right now there’s only Branson, who wouldn’t understand at all. And the Dowager’s far too canny."

"Well, we have to do something," Jimmy insisted.

"Yes," Thomas agreed. "We do. I’m going to have to speak to her."

"To Lady  _Mary_?” Jimmy said. “What could you say that wouldn’t get you sacked?”

"Well, what else is there? I can’t very well go to Carson. He might catch on we’re together."

“ _No_ , you can’t do that.”

"Well then," Thomas said firmly. "Because you’re right, it can’t stand. It’s out of order and I won’t be played with. I don’t care how nice her intentions are, she’s toying with us. Bloody hell, it’s not my fault Mr. Matthew’s got plowed by a lorry, is it?"

Jimmy’s blood was running warm and he smirked at Thomas.

"What now?" Thomas said.

"Nothin’. Only you’re quite appealing when you’re all riled up. Makes me wish I’d known you when you were young and scheming."

"Oh, there you go sayin’ I’m old again."

"Only older than me."

"Not by much."

"Come here…" Jimmy glanced around, stubbing out his cigarette, and led Thomas behind a tall stack of crates next to the back wall.

"Blimey," Thomas whispered between kisses. "Everyone wants Thomas Barrow today."

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

_Dear Mr. Barrow,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance in London. Please relate my warm wishes to Lady Mary Crawley, if you would. I did so wish to attend her party as I’ve since heard it was a gala affair, but unfortunately I was on business with my club In Berlin at the time. That brings me to my purpose in writing you, as I’m sure you’re surprised by this correspondence. I’m opening up a new club in Brighton. It will be much like the club you saw in London. Happily, I’ve managed to fix the managerial problems I spoke of when I met you. But for Brighton, I require a special sort of man. I need someone young, competent, cunning, and ruthlessly immune to nonsense. Quite frankly, I also need somebody who looks smashing in a dinner jacket. Immediately, I thought of you. You might think me strange to have formed such an opinion of you after so short a meeting, but I have an excellent sense about people and it has served me well in all my business ventures. You should also know, I have asked Lady Mary about you and she spoke most highly._

_To finally get down to brass tacks- I’m prepared to offer you the position of night club manager without need of an interview. To be sure, I’d like to talk about this with you on the telephone, but understand, this job is yours if you want it. I can guarantee you would be earning more than you do as an under butler, but I’m prepared to negotiate (within reason). I would also be able to help you find a decently priced flat nearby- perhaps even one near to the shore. You see how I aim to entice you?_

_I can give you some time to consider this offer, but I do hope to open this new club in early July at the latest, to catch the summer crowds (I’m in the midst of quite the battle with builders as we speak). Regardless of your decision, or should you have any questions at all, please call or write within two two weeks so I shall now where I stand. I do hope you look favorably on this opportunity and I look forward to the possibility of us working together._

_Sincerely,_

_Felix Schiller_

Thomas had a lot on his mind.

When he had a minute to himself, he read and reread Schiller’s letter, parsing it for a catch. But there didn’t seem to be one. Before Jimmy, he would’ve knocked over anyone in his path to the telephone in the great hall to ring Schiller with no hesitation and say, “Absolutely yes. When can I start?” Because he had loved the way it had felt standing at that bar in the London club. People had looked at him just assuming he was probably someone of importance and he had been enlivened by the ambiance of the place. He was sure he would be good at the job. Wear a dinner jacket while smoking a cigarette and telling people what to do? Could a better position have been invented for the likes of Thomas Barrow?

But then there was Jimmy.

He had been thinking of broaching the subject all during the fox hunt, his mind racing. Of course, he wanted Jimmy to go with him. But the darkest and angriest parts of his mind told him that Jimmy would certainly go along, not for Thomas but for the opportunity, and that he would certainly be thrown over for someone else in the end.

He should go, Thomas thought. He should go on alone, even if Jimmy was the best thing that had ever happened. Because it would eventually blow up in his face. It always did.

But he probably wouldn’t. Because he was stupid and he had never let go of anyone. He had only ever been let go. Then Jimmy had said he was jealous, and it gave him a little pause. He didn’t think anyone had ever been jealous over him before.

_Now_  there were these shenanigans with Lady Mary and the foppish poet. The whole thing made him want to run screaming to Brighton.

He was drinking tea in the kitchen, working up what he might say to Lady Mary and trying to ignore the fantastical dream in his mind of a flat with a view of the sea and jazz playing on a gramophone as Jimmy kissed his neck, when Daisy came skipping up with a plate of lemon cake.

"Have some, Mr. Barrow?" She chirped.

Thomas set down his tea and took a slice. “Thank you.”

"You look grim," she said. "I only say so ‘cause lately I’d fancy the house were made of marzipan for how you’ve been actin’."

"I have to do something unpleasant," he said simply, avoiding the part about his recent good mood, and took a bite. "This is good."

"Can I tell ya a secret?" She was nearly floating with glee.

"I s’pose you will, whether I like it or not."

"I think Alfred’s goin’ to ask me to marry him," she whispered.

“‘Course he is,” Thomas said, taking a sip of tea. “You’re inheriting a farm.”

She walloped him in the shoulder. “Don’t be nasty now, Thomas.”

"I’m just jokin’," Thomas said. "I’m the one that said he loved you in the first place."

"Well, he  _does_ ,” she said, her voice quavering with excitement.

"Obviously."

"He told me so!"

He smiled, a little surprised by how pleased he was for Daisy. He wished Jimmy would say the same to him.

Alfred he had no particular feelings about, but as long as he made her happy…

And if not, he’d see to it there was one less ginger beanpole in the world.

"I’m happy for you," he said quietly.

“ _Are_  you?” Daisy said. “Never heard ya say that before.”

"I don’t suppose I’ve meant it before."

Daisy grinned at him and suddenly leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t turn into a scarlet woman already, Daisy. What would Alfred think?”

"That you’re my friend and I’m glad you are."

"Oh, stop it now, you’re gettin’ soppy."

Thomas worked up his nerve and found Lady Mary watching Miss Vyse paint outside, though she had not called for him. He could presume she wouldn’t be too shocked he wanted to talk to her after what she’d done.

He stood straight and said, “My lady, I need a word with you if it’s convenient. I wonder if you’d like to take flowers to Mr. Crawley and Lady Sybil?” He’d brought her flower basket with him and held it on his arm.

She regarded him with that cynical expression she was always wearing now and nodded. “That’s a good idea, Barrow. I thought you might want to have a chat.”

_I’ll bet._

They were silent all the way the greenhouse, but Thomas found her devil-may-care attitude infuriating; it was something about the way she walked. The peonies had bloomed and she was selecting her favorites for the basket when he finally spoke.

"I think you know why I need to speak to you," Thomas said. "I’m afraid I need to be very direct, regardless of the consequences."

"And they say I have a flair for the dramatic," Lady Mary said. "Don’t stand on propriety, Barrow. I think we’re past that. I do hope thanks are in order. Unless I’ve been much mistaken about certain people."

"Thanks?" Thomas said. "You think I would thank you after… Do you understand the danger you could have exposed me to? And to Mr. Faring? And to…" He had almost said Jimmy. But he wanted to hold back the information if it was possible.

"I understand you and James are dear friends," Lady Mary said. "And I confess, I got the distinct impression you might be even more than friends. I didn’t think-"

"Forgive me, but you didn’t think at all, my lady."

"I told you not to stand on propriety, Thomas."

"Alright,  _Mary_.” He felt as if he were leaping of a cliff. “You didn’t do this to play Cupid. To set up a couple of friends like a school girl.”

"Yes, I-"

"You did it because it amused you." He spoke quietly. Generally, the more quietly he spoke, the more angry he was. "You say we’re friends, but we’re not. Not really. We’re toys for you to move around a dollhouse for your entertainment. So are the bohemians."

Mary was still. She clutched a peony in her hand, her face a mask.

"No one will tell you what they think, ya know." He was slipping into his downstairs accent and it felt very strange to talk to her like that. "They’re afraid of you."

"I know," Mary said.

"When I said to do what you liked, I didn’t mean…" He took a breath. There was nothing for it. "He wouldn’t be happy to see you like this."

"Oh, don’t…" She closed her eyes.

"He wouldn’t. Neither would Lady Sybil."

"Please don’t, Thomas."

"You…" He sighed. "You have to learn to look in your son’s eyes.."

Lady Mary started to cry.

"You have family. You have a son. I’ll never have any of that. Do you know what I would give…"

"I know, I know…" She began to sob outright and clutched him to her, weeping all over his livery. He had not expected this. First Anna, and now Mary. Why was he always making women weep all over him? "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!"

He had a feeling she wasn’t just apologizing to him. He was awkward and stiff as she held him, but he patted her arm. “It’s… It’ll be alright,” he muttered. “Eventually. It has to be.”

"It doesn’t feel that way," she said, her voice muffled.

"It never does.".

She wept and sniffled all over him for what seemed like an eternity, and when she finally pulled away, red with embarrassment, he handed her his handkerchief.

"Oh,  _God_ ,” she said, in a voice that sounded much more like the old Lady Mary. She dabbed her eyes and sniffed. “Who would’ve thought that you would be my confidante? No offense.”

"None taken. I wouldn’t have thought it."

She shook her head and picked up the peony again, fidgeting with it’s petals. “I really do apologize for meddling. So childish. And… I know, I could’ve gotten you into terrible straights.”

"I accept your apology." He didn’t know what else to say.

"They  _are_  afraid of me,” she muttered. “Even Grannie. But they all want me to remarry and I don’t want to, and not only because it’s hard to imagine falling in love again.”

"I don’t see why you have to," Thomas said. "I mean, Downton is secure with Mr. Mattie. Not to be callous-"

"No, you’re quite right. I don’t believe they think me capable of much else. But I like the bohemians. For all their chaos. Mr. Faring’s poems are actually quite beautiful."

"You do want to be a patron of the arts," Thomas said in surprise.

"I think so," she said, genuinely smiling. "Maybe. Stranger things have happened, haven’t they?"

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

Mrs. Hughes now made Anna take sporadic restful periods. Often, against her will. When she did, Thomas would later send Jimmy to her cottage with something from Mrs. Patmore.

"Why can’t you do it?" Jimmy said one morning.

"I’m busy doing under butler things, James."

Jimmy answered by surreptitously pinching him in his side which almost made him drop a bottle of wine in the kitchen.

"Cheeky," Thomas said. But Jimmy saw his smile.

On a whim, Jimmy pinched his backside and said, “No,  _that’s_  cheeky.”

When Jimmy returned from the cottage he was directed to walk with Thomas to the village and deliver an important parcel to the post office. Jimmy was all too obliging. Because it was warm, they changed into shirt sleeves and trousers.

"This is the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever heard of," Jimmy said laughing, carrying the box under his arm. "Two people to post a parcel?"

"I can’t be seen carry parcels to the post office," Thomas said imperiously. "It’s beneath my dignity as an under butler. And obviously, you require supervision. You’d probably get lost."

"Anna says to tell you, you’re not fooling anybody. She knows you’re the one sending coffee cakes and fruit."

"It was Mrs. Patmore’s idea."

"Sure it was."

"Let’s take the long way," Thomas said. So they walked through the estate, into the wilder untended parts where there was a field of wild flowers near a thin stretch of woods and no one around for as far as they could see."

Thomas was pleasant but quiet as Jimmy rambled on about how much he’d hated  _Women in Love_  (what he’d bothered to read of it anyhow), until he finally nudged Thomas in his side and said, “Why’re you so quiet?”

"Sorry," Thomas said, fanning himself with his hat. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"Not Lady Mary," Jimmy prompted. "That’s done with, in’t?"

"That’s as resolved as it’s going to be. I think she’ll be alright. More or less."

"Long as she’s resolved not to bother with us," Jimmy muttered, shaking his head.

"Jimmy-"

"I have to tell you something," Jimmy said suddenly.

He said it before he could change his mind. He had to tell Thomas about Eddie or it would come bursting out of his mouth at breakfast because he felt so guilty sitting on this minor detail. There was also the matter of his having gone through Thomas’s things while he was in London. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining his logic on that count either.

"What is it?" Thomas said as they stomped through weeds and knee-length grass, far from the house.

"You know, how I said that I didn’t know what I was?" Jimmy said. "That is, I didn’t know I was like you and then I…realized it-"

"When you saw Eddie and I."

"Partly that," Jimmy said. "But also… See, when you were in London, I thought I needed to try it. Try something like that. To see if I was your sort. Like an experiment. And I couldn’t have gone to you first, because I was afraid if I was wrong it would muddle everything and we couldn’t be friends. I mean…you have to understand that. It all seems utterly mad now. It’s all so bleedin’ obvious. But it made sense at the time. Honestly. So…so I did. Do that."

Thomas frowned at him. “Jimmy, you did  _what_  exactly?”

"I went to Eddie," Jimmy finally said, and stopped walking. "While you were in London. I saw Eddie. Once."

Thomas stopped and stared at him. The sun was behind him and Jimmy couldn’t see his eyes.

"I see," Thomas said flatly.

"Which, to be fair, we weren’t together and it wasn’t as if you and Eddie were in some exclusive situation-"

"I know. That doesn’t matter."

"I should’ve mentioned it sooner…"

"It’s not a problem." Thomas was speaking in his professional voice. It was unsettling and from the way Thomas said it wasn’t a problem, Jimmy had an inkling that it might be a problem. Thomas started walking again and Jimmy followed. He was walking much faster than he had been.

"You’re angry," Jimmy stated.

"Do I seem angry?"

"For you? Yes."

"I’m not angry. You don’t owe me anything, Jimmy."

"Wait… What’s that mean?" He took off his hat. The sun was bloody hot. Thomas had his sleeves rolled up. It reminded Jimmy of the fair.

"Forget it. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you too…" He finally slowed his walk somewhat. His legs were longer after all. It was all Jimmy could do to keep up. "About the letter from Schiller. I’m leaving Downton."

"What? You’re what?" Jimmy was certain he hadn’t heard right.

"I’m leaving Downton," Thomas said again. "Schiller’s offered me a job managing his new club in Brighton. It’s to open in July. It’s perfect for me, really." Thomas wouldn’t look at him. He kept glaring off at the horizon.

"Alright," Jimmy said, nodding. He hadn’t kept up. That was the problem. Surely, Thomas didn’t mean what he sounded like he meant. "I’m coming with you then-"

"Huh, no." Thomas said. He put his hat back on and stopped, taking out a cigarette, squinting. "I would’ve done yesterday. Five minutes ago. But it’s clear now. And I don’t need you riding my coattails." Jimmy couldn’t only watch, flabbergasted, as he lit up.

"Your  _coattails_?”

"I asked you straight off," Thomas said around his cigarette, his voice finally betraying some measure of emotion. He exhaled in Jimmy’s face. "I asked you if you were doin’ this because you just wanted to be with someone. You didn’t have to lie. I still would’ve taken up with you anyway. Because I’m just that bloody  _stupid_.”

"I don’t even understand what you’re-"

"If you just wanted a few rolls in the hay, why didn’t you just stay in the stables?"

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

"No."

"I never lied," Jimmy said. They stood, trampling the innocent wild flowers, separated by the cigarette smoke. "I did want you. I do."

"For an experiment. I understand," Thomas said. "It’s surely easier to have someone in the house, I suppose. You should’ve just told me straight off. I wouldn’t have gotten my bloody hopes up-"

"For what? What are you on about?"

"Why didn’t you just stay with Eddie, if that was all you wanted!" His voice shook. Jimmy didn’t remember ever seeing him this upset. Not since that doomed night of the kiss so long ago.

"Because I’m not in love with Eddie, I’m in love with you, you ridiculous clot!" Jimmy was, to his later bemusement, still befuddled. Thomas fell a step to the side so that the sun wasn’t behind him and Jimmy could see his face. His eyes were red and teary. He looked winded, like he’d just run a long way. Jimmy shook his head. "But you must know that. Of course, I am. Haven’t you guessed it? How simple are you? What do you think this is about? I’m in love with you and no mistake, Thomas. I don’t have explanations for it, but I know  _that._ I can’t bloody breathe for love of you. I don’t know what people do. Learn to get on feeling this way all the time, I suppose. It’s like an elixir. You’ve got in my head and all over me. And…I…I bungled it. All of it. We both did. Since the day we met. And I’m sorry I was a bastard to you for a year. But if you left without me, I would follow you anyway. You’ll not be rid of me that easy. You’d have to step on my face first. We’re together now, you and I. It’s how it is.  _Always._ And…and…say something!”

Jimmy almost fell violently to the ground when Thomas threw down his cigarette and kissed him. He dropped the parcel and his hat and wrapped his arms around Thomas. This kiss felt different- untethered to anything earthly and off in the stars somewhere. They stumbled to the ground (they realized later, they were lucky not to have set the estate on fire for having dropped a lit cigarette in the grass) and Thomas yanked off Jimmy’s shirt as they kicked off their shoes.

Their kisses came in waves; passionate as if the sun was bursting for the end of days and then suddenly fragile and full of awe like they were waiting for a message from God to come out of one of their mouths. Thomas’s shirt lost a couple of buttons when Jimmy nearly tore it from his body and they tussled around in the grass; it never seemed like one could touch enough of the other.

"Do it… Please do it…"Jimmy said, half out of his mind.

So Thomas wet his fingers when they were naked. Jimmy lay on his back and wrapped his legs around Thomas.

It probably hurt more than Jimmy remembered, because all he knew later was the part when Thomas filled him; was around him and everywhere, and he was connected to a person from whom he would never want to be parted.

Jimmy could only breathe, “Yes,” into Thomas’s mouth. “Yes…yes…”

"You’re right," Thomas said, his voice quavering. "It is beautiful."

And in waves again, they were tumbling and pouring over, in and out, to their own shore. The air suddenly seemed thick and sweet.

"I love you." Jimmy kissed Thomas’s neck as they neared. "I love you, I love you, never doubt me, my love."

Thomas barely touched him and then they were coming together, eye to eye, as Jimmy clutched a clump of grass with his fist and then dumbly grabbed for Thomas’s hand to clasp it in his. When it was over, Thomas relaxed on top of him. His mouth rested right over Jimmy’s heart. Jimmy turned his head and saw a grasshopper perched on a flower, seemingly oblivious to the way the planet had just slightly tipped on its axis.

"I can hear your heart," Thomas muttered.

Jimmy nearly said, “It beats for you.” But that would’ve been absurdly girlish and he was above such things.

Generally.

_It’s how it is_ , he thought, with a profound sense of peace.  _Always._

"I love you too," Thomas finally said at the end of a breath.

"I know that," Jimmy murmured. "I’m not bloody simple."

Thomas chuckled and Jimmy felt it in his chest. A cool breeze drifted over them and he shivered.

"Not that I have a particular desire to move," Thomas said, "but we really should put our clothes on."

"Oh my God, we’re outside." He’d known it in the abstract, but reality seemed a silly thing at the moment.

Thomas eventually rolled off of him and Jimmy slid into his underwear and trousers. He sat up and watched Thomas get dressed, though he couldn’t button his shirt up all the way.

"Jimmy, you’ve made me all sticky."

Thomas sat on the ground with his shirt half-done, looking down at his exposed chest which still had a bit of Jimmy splattered on it. “I don’t think I can serve dinner to the Dowager like this,” Thomas said, and started laughing; so hard he clutched his stomach.

Jimmy crawled over to him and snorted, wiping some of the offending substance off of Thomas’s skin and into the grass. “We can’t go to the village like this, we’re a catastrophe.” He ran a hand through Thomas’s hair. “You’re all dirty. You look like you’ve been doing exactly what you were just doing.”

"So do you, and don’t ever change," Thomas said dryly. "Come on. There’s a pond over here somewhere. We can clean up a bit. I’ve just decided there was a dreadfully long queue at the post office."

They staggered to their feet and Jimmy brushed sticks and grass off of Thomas’s shirt. “I can’t believe you didn’t know.”

"You never said it. I couldn’t bear to ask you."

"I would have," Jimmy said. "I’ve never done this before. With anyone. I didn’t think you’d go in for soppy hearts and flowers and everything."

"I don’t. But once would’ve been useful."

"Then I’ll say it everyday, in case you’ve forgotten."

They held hands and walked into the woods where there was a pond hidden beyond a some shrubbery and a thicket. Jimmy soaked his handkerchief in the water and rang it out. They sat under a tree, where Jimmy washed Thomas’s chest and started thinking ahead.

"So we’ll need a flat," Jimmy said. "And I’ll need a job…"

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Jimmy said, "there is really a job offer from Schiller, isn’t there? That was what the letter was about? Unless you made that up because you were angry."

"No, there is," Thomas said. "Obviously I would want you to go. But if you don’t want to, I’d stay here with you-"

"Bloody hell you’re stayin’ here. You’re right, it’s perfect for you. If it’s not open yet, he’ll surely not have a wait staff. I can do that."

"You’re over qualified to be a waiter," Thomas pointed out. "It would be a step down from first footman."

"I don’t mind," Jimmy said, shrugging. "Tell him I play the piano. Maybe I can do something with that. I could learn to make cocktails… Whatever it is, we’re going."

"You know, you could wait for me to have asked you," Thomas said haughtily. "That would be the polite thing."

Jimmy dropped his damp handkerchief and crossed his arms. “Alright. Well, go ahead then.”

"Jimmy, do you want to leave Downton and come with me to-"

"Yes." He grinned. "Yes, you loony. Let’s go to Bristol."

"Brighton."

"Wherever."

Thomas buttoned up his shirt as well as he could, trying to finagle a way to make it appear completely closed. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. Us being together, living together. We’ll have to be careful in public-“

"Ha!" Jimmy blurted.

"More careful than  _this_. And we can’t tell anyone unless they’re in the same boat we are. And we shouldn’t write anything down, just to be on the safe side.”

"Men live together all the time."

"I know." Thomas nodded. "It’s just hard to imagine. But also… You won’t ever have children. Wouldn’t that bother you?"

"I never planned to have children," Jimmy said, scoffing. "I thought I’d be in service for the rest of my life. Gave up that idea."

"Right. But-"

Jimmy cradled Thomas’s face in his hands and narrowed his eyes. “Thomas. Mr. Barrow. Will you let yourself be happy for five minutes? Just try it on and see how it feels.”

Thomas smiled shyly. “Hard to get used to.”

"Well, you ought to get used to it," Jimmy advised. He kissed Thomas softly and suddenly remembered the O’Brien letters.

_Damn._

He pulled away and winced. “There is just one thing I should tell you-“

"Oh, what now?" Thomas said. "You rogered his lordship in the library?"

"No, but I suddenly find your imagination unsettling." Jimmy sighed and pulled up his legs, resting his hands on knees. "When you were in London-"

"I did ask you specifically if you got up to any mischief when I was in London, and you said no. Yet as it happens-"

"Do shut up. When you were in London, I went to your room to borrow books and… I sort of poked around a bit. In your top drawer. I read your letters to O’Brien and I looked in that little cigar box."

_There_ , he thought. There it was. Now Thomas knew everything. He shut his eyes and waited for Thomas to be angry again.

"Why?" Thomas said, sounding only confused.

He opened his eyes. Yes, Thomas was only puzzled. That was a relief. “I suppose I just wanted to…know you better. You’re not exactly an open book.”

"Oh. Well, I can’t imagine O’Brien’s letters were very entertaining. They’re mostly just her telling me to quit whingin’ on about dead people."

"No, they were," Jimmy argued. "I don’t know if entertaining’s the word. But I felt like I was there with you. It was like a strange dream reading them. And…and in the cigar box. I saw a picture of you as a boy. And the picture of your mother and then Lady Sybil…"

Thomas was staring down at his hands, fidgeting with his glove. “Oh. Yeah, I stole that picture. I found it in the attic.”

"She looked just like your mother," Jimmy said. "Lady Sybil did."

"Yeah. She did. She was like her too. Only my mother wasn’t so rebellious as Lady Sybil, by any means. But she was kind like her. And kind to me. She was wonderful."

"How did she die?" Jimmy asked. For one terrifying moment, he was sure Thomas was going to say she had died in childbirth.

"She fell through some ice," Thomas said, speaking quietly. "Walking home one day in winter. She got out of it, but she had to walk the rest of the way, there was no one there. She took ill. Pneumonia, I think. Don’t know how she didn’t freeze to death in the first place. I was nine. My father…" Thomas looked up, his eyes far away, and frowned.

Jimmy nudged him and said, “Go on?”

"Oh. Just… I don’t think he ever got over her death. And he didn’t like me. I mean he wasn’t a bad man really. He didn’t drink or beat me. I just hated everyone after she died and on top of that it felt as if everyone knew I was different and they treated me strangely and… He knew about me, I think. Without me even sayin’ anything. He never said a word about it, but I could feel it. Somehow. It was like living in a cold room all the time. Then when I was fourteen, his clock shop went under and…" Thomas blinked. It seemed like he was actually seeing the past play out in front of him.

"He what?" Jimmy whispered.

"He left," Thomas said. "He said I was old enough to look after myself. So he just…left. I don’t even know where he went. London maybe."

"What’d you do?"

"For a while I moved coal. Then I found work as a hall boy," Thomas said with a shrug. "At Dunham House. Little ways south of here. It wasn’t nice there. But I worked up to footman. Soon as I found Downton I left. I’ve never told all that to anyone before."

Jimmy didn’t often feel lucky that his parents were dead. But at least they had gone when he was grown, and neither voluntarily. He must’ve betrayed himself, because Thomas smiled slightly and said, “You don’t have to look so tragic. It was a hundred years ago. Besides, it’s not an uncommon story.”

"Must’ve been lonely though."

"Well…yes."

"You won’t be anymore." Jimmy swallowed. Thomas knew all this already now, but somehow it seemed important to say it as clearly as possible: "Thomas, I love you. You’ll never be alone again."

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

Thomas rang Schiller who, in an enthusiastic squelch over the telephone, agreed to giving Jimmy a job: “A first footman? Why of course, old sport. We’ll teach him how to make cocktails! Yes, have him audition for me on the piano, if you like.”

Schiller said he’d put someone to the task of finding a properly furnished flat.

"Eh, two bedrooms," Thomas stuttered. "I’ll be sharing it with Mr. Kent."

 _Alright_ , Thomas thought, _so we’ll have a study._

They were to leave in mid-June. Schiller wanted to teach Thomas the way of nightclubs before the opening. The evening after his telephone call, Thomas and Jimmy gave their notice.

Mr. Carson did not  _appear_ particularly shocked, but then he sat down heavily in his chair.

"I am shocked," he said.

"We are giving you plenty of time to find replacements," Thomas said. "We thought it only fair since we’re both going to be leaving."

"Of course, we’ll find replacements," Mr. Carson said, blustering. "But considering how you’ve held your place at Downton with the taloned grip of an ornery falcon, Mr. Barrow-"

Jimmy snorted a laugh and covered his mouth. “Sorry, Mr. Carson.”

Thomas elbowed him in the ribs.

"Now with Anna expecting, that will be another complication…" Mr. Carson threw his hands in the air. "It is not be born. It is the end of  _days_. Honestly. A  _jazz_  club! And in Brighton! You know what they say about Brighton.”

"What do they say about Brighton?" Thomas said.

"Nothing good, I should expect." He shuffled papers, set them down, and shuffled them again. "And both of you together? Given past events-"

"We’re friends now," Jimmy said quickly.

"I see." Mr. Carson sighed heavily and leveled his gaze at Thomas. "I was only just beginning to think of you as a respectable heir apparent for me, Mr. Barrow."

"For  _you_?” Thomas said.

"I am not immortal. You have always proved yourself competent, if not at times…ethically moribund. But in the last couple of years, even in that I have seen a marked difference." He folded his hands on the desk. "I have come to rely on you. Downton will feel your absence. And not for the better."

Could have knocked Thomas over with a feather.

"What about me?" Jimmy said, sounding a bit offended.

"I’m sure we’ll miss you too," Mr. Carson quipped.

This time Thomas laughed and Jimmy elbowed him in the ribs.

May arrived, and with it the exodus of the bohemians. They declared themselves well rested and wholly inspired by the countryside and its provincial charms. Thomas was met with many the wink and promise that he would likely be seen later in Brighton by all of the guests.

"It is not goodbye!" Miss Vyse said, as she got into a roadster. "It is only until next time!"

"I can hardly wait," he said dryly to Jimmy, as they watched the cars disappear down the road.

"Well, they weren’t dull," Jimmy said. "Certainly happy to see that bloody monkey go away."

Mr. Carson was happier than anyone that the bohemians were gone, but Thomas saw his relief turn to dread after Alfred and Daisy announced their engagement. It would be yet another staffing issue for poor Mr. Carson. The lot of them ate strawberry cake in the kitchen one afternoon to celebrate.

"I would’ve done sooner," Alfred said, grinning, his arm around Daisy’s waist. "But I had to wait to ask Mr. Mason’s blessin’."

Jimmy frowned and said to Daisy, “But Mr. Mason isn’t your father.”

"He’s good as ‘un to me," Daisy said proudly.

"Seemed right," Alfred said.

"It’s ever so romantic," Ivy cooed.

Mrs. Patmore was serving from a platter next to Alfred. She dropped her cake knife and turned away. “It’s nothin. Just a little ginger in me eye.”

Thomas and Jimmy smirked at each other.

"We’ll be livin’ on the farm once we’re married," Daisy said, glowing brighter than the electric lights upstairs. "Alfred and Mr. Mason get on like jam and bread."

All at once Mrs. Patmore spun and threw her arms around Daisy. “I’m so happy for ya, my girl! But how shall  _I_  get on?”

"You and Jimmy will visit the farm, won’t ya, Mr. Barrow?" Daisy said to Thomas later in the pantry.

Thomas said, “I can’t speak for Jimmy-“

"Oh, can’t ya?" Daisy said. She fixed him with sky-high eyebrows.

"Yes," Thomas finally said. "Yes, we will visit."

"I  _told_  ya, didn’t I?”

The day after that was Thomas’s birthday. He hadn’t been thinking of it, but Jimmy knocked on his door early that morning.

"Happy birthday," Jimmy said, smiling and still in his pajamas.

Thomas was bleary eyed. He let Jimmy into his room. “How did you know-“

"I know things," he said mysteriously. He handed it to Thomas. "Here."

"A present?" Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a birthday present. He sat down, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The present was a pewter pocket watch, of a lovely design. It didn’t seem like something Jimmy could reasonably afford. He grinned. “It’s  _very_  nice. Thank you. Must’ve cost a pip. When did you get this?”

"Um… Well, a few months ago."

"A few  _months_  ago?”

"It was before London," Jimmy said. "When I went to Thirsk and got you the Tarzan. Guess I should’ve realized then, aye?"

"Bleedin’ obvious," Thomas agreed. He took Jimmy’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Things were peaceful. Lady Mary often took to the gardens with Mr. Mattie. Sometimes Mr. Branson took Miss Sybbie on walks around the estate and Lady Mary and Mr. Mattie would accompany them.

"It’s lovely the children get on so well," Mr. Branson said to Thomas at a tea. "But Lady Mary is always talkin’ about things like the clash of arts and commerce and…Pablo bloody Picasso. I feel a bit out of my depth."

The Granthams returned in June. One day Mr. Bates found Thomas alone in the servants’ hall. He sat down across from Thomas, who was smoking over the newspaper and folded his hands.

"Thomas," Mr. Bates said gravely. "I believe I owe you a measure of gratitude."

Thomas blinked at him. “What’s that then?”

"Anna told me how you looked after her when I was away. I’m most thankful. It’s been very strange to be the last one to know this happy news."

Thomas flicked his ashes and muttered, “Only doin’ my job.”

"Hmm. She says that you and Jimmy fixed a leak in her roof."

"It rained in April," Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "Can’t have her catch cold, it would spread through the whole house."

"Ah, yes. And you fenced off our vegetable garden?"

"There’s a  _rabbit_  problem,” Thomas insisted. “And I didn’t do that myself, I just noticed that… Do you have a point?”

"Mrs. Hughes told me how you cared for her when she fainted. For all of these things, I am grateful to you. It all means more than any apology." Mr. Bates smiled.

"Right," Thomas said, taking a drag. "Brilliant."

"I wish you well in Brighton."

"I’m sure you do."

Would he ever leave?

Finally, thankfully, Mr. Bates rose to go. But in the hallway, he turned back and said, “Thomas, no one thinks the coffee cakes were Mrs. Patmore’s idea. You’re not fooling anyone.”

When he was gone, Thomas shook his head and muttered, “Still a patronizing bastard.”

At one of their last dinners serving the Granthams, his Lordship looked almost troubled as Jimmy went around with a dish of chicken.

"I confess, it will be odd not having old Thomas around," Lord Grantham said.

Lady Grantham nodded in agreement. The Dowager frowned, her fork in the air and said, “Now which one is Thomas again?”

Thomas nodded to himself.  _Yes. Yes, that’s about right._  He glanced at Jimmy, who grinned back at him. Alfred was chuckling in the corner.

"Barrow, Grannie," Lady Mary said. "We’re losing my dear Barrow."

Lady Grantham did an actual double-take. “ _Your_ dear Barrow? What on earth happened while we were in Paris?”

"Oh yes, of course," the Dowager said, gesturing towards Thomas, who stood next to Carson in front of the wine. "The very handsome one."

Lady Rose giggled and batted her eyes. “He is, isn’t he?”

Mr. Carson muttered, “Now I’ve seen  _everything_.”

"Thank you, my lady," Thomas said smoothly.

"And James is going as well," Lord Grantham sighed.

The Dowager said, “Oh! We’re losing the piano player?” She tossed a look of bemusement at Jimmy. “Who will entertain us now?”

"What, they’re  _both_  leaving?” Lady Rose threw her fork down. “How perfectly dreadful.”

After dinner, Thomas followed Jimmy back down to the kitchen. “Twelve years I’ve been here and the old bat doesn’t know my name,” Thomas said. “But  _you_ , she knows. I managed the whole house at the end of the war! She does have excellent taste though, I’ll give her that.”

Jimmy pursed his lips. “And here I thought I was the handsome one?”

"You’re the pretty one," Thomas said. "I’m the handsome one."

Lady Mary caught Thomas in the great hall on their last day. He had just been making a telephone call to work out some last minute plans with Schiller. The flat had been selected, following a flurry of letter writing back and forth. They were to settle in for a few days and then meet him for tea and on to the nearly finished club.

Lady Mary asked the usual cursory questions about Brighton and then said, “Thomas, I hope I wasn’t  _too_  much trouble for you. I really do apologize.”

"Not to worry, my lady," Thomas said, and smiled knowingly. "You didn’t do any real damage."

"I would understand," she said, "if you would never want to take me into your confidence again. But… I do have to wonder, as you’re taking James with you to Brighton, if I wasn’t on the right track? I assure you, such knowledge would not amuse me."

Thomas smiled tightly. “My lady…”

"Oh, you’re right. Don’t tell me." She patted him on the arm. "But do you know, I am the one who told Carson he ought to hire James? I said we should take him on to cheer up the maids."

Thomas couldn’t help it. He smiled like a boy. “Oh.”

"Perhaps he cheered somebody else up who needed it more," Lady Mary said slyly. "If so… I’m glad. Good luck in Brighton. I’ll see you there sometime. The bohemians won’t let me stay away long."

"Thank you, my lady."

She turned to go and Thomas stopped her. “Um… Thank you, also…for…making very wise choices. In terms of footmen.”

She smiled genuinely and nodded. “Glad to be of service.”

Thomas’s things were packed. They were to catch the train in an hour. He stood in his room next to the trunk that held all his possessions in the world. It wasn’t that his memories of life at Downton were so terribly fond. But there were small things even before Jimmy, like a begrudging agreement after the servants’ ball one year that Thomas was the best dancer, or some shared look of bemusement with his lordship at something Mrs. Crawley had said. There had been pretty good jokes over cigarettes with O’Brien before things had gone sour. If nothing else, what had kept him going for so long was the feeling of accomplishment at knowing that, all things considered, he was very good at his job. Even if he had scraped and fought like a caged beast to keep it. It was the only life he had thought he would ever know. Now it fit into a single trunk.

Jimmy appeared in the door, wearing his grey tweed suit, and said, “Mrs. Patmore’s made us somethin’ for the train. We should be off soon.”

Thomas nodded absentmindedly, “Hmm.”

"Do you have jitters?" Jimmy said.

"No," Thomas said quickly. "Maybe a little."

"It’s going to be different," Jimmy said, nodding. "But it’s goin’ to be  _grand_.”

They said their goodbyes with typical British restraint to the family and then everyone in the servants’ hall. O’Brien stood behind everyone else. Thomas had known her for over twelve years and even now couldn’t tell if she was indifferent or melancholy. He said nothing to her, but she caught his eye and held his gaze. Her expression softened for the briefest moment and then she looked away and quietly left the room.

"Good luck to you, Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes said. "I hope you find great success."

The others were distracted by something Jimmy was saying about the ocean. Thomas swallowed and looked down. “I do want to thank you, Mrs. Hughes, for… bein’ kind to me once. When I was very low.”

He had never forgotten the time Mrs. Hughes had brought him in from the rain when he had thought his life was ruined forever. She had given him tea, sat him down by a fire, and listened without judgement and only openheartedness. He had a special place in his heart for Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes answered his gratitude with a smile and a pat on his arm. She glanced around and leaned in closer. “Thomas, between us. Are you sure about James? I’ve never thought much of him, if I’m to be honest.”

Thomas wasn’t sure where to begin with that. He felt like he was defending a suitor to his mother. Thomas said, “He’s a good man. Once you get to know him. I’m as sure as I could be.”

Anna actually wept when she said her goodbyes, but put it down to the mad feelings she was always getting now that she was expecting.

"Mind you be good, Thomas," she said to him. "We know it’s possible."

Then Thomas and Jimmy were in a car and Downton was disappearing behind him. Jimmy squeezed his hand and Thomas turned his head forward before it became just a speck in the distance.

On the train they felt like schoolboys left to their own devices on holiday. For most of the ride they had a compartment to themselves, but for a while a portly man with a bushy mustache sat across from them, introducing himself as Mr. Herbert. He was in insurance. Jimmy turned out to be a fidgety traveling companion.

"I’m bored," he muttered to Thomas under his breath.

""Good Lord, it’s not that long a trip," Thomas said wryly.

Jimmy nodded and tapped his fingers on his knee. He kept shooting Mr. Herbert accusatory looks, as if the man was responsible for his boredom. Then he said softly, “Actually, there is a sensitive matter of business I should tell you.”

"Is there?" Thomas rose an eyebrow.

Mr. Herbert stared. Thomas wished he would read a newspaper or something. Jimmy said to Mr. Herbert, “I apologize for my rudeness about this, sir.” Then he leaned over and, holding a hand over his mouth, whispered in Thomas’s ear, “I wish your prick was in my mouth right now.”

Thomas showed no reaction at all and simply said, “We’ll definitely be handling that matter. Soon enough, I assure you.” Mr. Herbert caught his eye and Thomas tossed him a friendly smile.

Eventually Mr. Herbert left them to go to the dining car, after which Jimmy burst out laughing.

Thomas said, “Is that what I should expect from now on? You’re going to whisper filthy things in my ear in front of people?”

"Absolutely."

"Fair enough," Thomas said.

Jimmy sighed and sat back in his seat. “Well, I can’t kiss you in public. I ought not hold your hand and I can’t tell anyone. But I can bloody well whisper filthy things in your ear if I want to, and no one’s the wiser.”

"I won’t argue with that logic. Have you got anymore dirty things to say?"

"I have got one," Jimmy said mischievously. "But it’s quite scandalous. Frowned upon by society. You might be takin’ your life in your hands."

"You’d better tell me," Thomas said.

Jimmy leaned over and whispered, “I love you.”

The flat was modest but nicely furnished. It was half of a narrow blue building in the middle of a line of similar buildings in town. The landlady was Miss Collins, a businesslike spinster who reminded Thomas of Isobel Crawley. She showed them around their new home and didn’t seem to think there was anything particularly strange about two men sharing a flat. Thomas wondered if this wasn’t far more common than he imagined. Maybe the country had limited his worldview. When she left, Thomas locked the door behind her. He found Jimmy upstairs standing at the window in the bigger bedroom.

"If I squint, I think I can almost see the ocean," Jimmy said.

Thomas came up behind him and kissed his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist. “That’s nice,” he murmured. “Even better, we have a door that locks now.”

Jimmy shut the curtains and turned around to kiss him. “I think I would’ve agreed to a garden shed if it had a lock on the door.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle and kissed like there was all in the time in the world for it. Jimmy took off Thomas’s jacket and threw it at the wall. Jimmy was nibbling on his ear when Thomas started laughing.

"Excuse me," Jimmy said, pretending offense. "I don’t see anything funny about this situation."

"No, it’s just… It feels like were on a honeymoon," Thomas said.

Jimmy shrugged and yanked off Thomas’s tie. “I’d marry you if I could.”

"Is that a proposal?"

"Well, why not?" He crouched over Thomas and smirked. "Good excuse to buy a morning coat."

"One societal transgression at a time, James."

The club opened just two weeks later and ahead of schedule. It was called The Moon Cat and even after Schiller’s many meetings with him, having gone over every bit of minutiae that Thomas would need to know to manage a nightclub, it was still grander than he would’ve imagined. But there was not much standing by the bar and looking important, it was a proper job. He bustled around, eyes constantly on the staff to see that the many patrons were catered to. He was more nervous than he would have expected.

"Napkin over the wrist, Roger," he said to a young wide-eyed waiter in the hall behind one of two bars. "Don’t forget to look for empty glasses. Ask  _everyone_  if they want champagne.”

He straightened his dinner jacket.

Schiller hadn’t forgotten what Thomas had said back in London about uniforms. All the waiters wore waistcoats, similar to a footman’s. Jimmy was helping tend bar, having had a crash course in cocktails. Thomas followed Roger back to the floor. Blue lanterns and crystal chandeliers made everything blue and glimmery. The Eugene King Orchestra was a jazz band and they were heating things up on the stage. Thomas didn’t know the song, but it was loud and it was making people dance like escaped hyenas.

And then…then there were the bohemians.

Of course, they had come. They were close friends of Schiller’s. And, perhaps, of Thomas’s. He didn’t think he’d be able to escape them anyway. The lot of them sat at a round table on the second level with Schiller, who observed it all with seemingly not a care in the world. Thomas already knew better on that score. Schiller didn’t miss anything. His sister, Lara, was dancing up a storm on the floor, a giant white feather boa flung around her neck. Thomas was about to check in with Schiller when he heard the sound of glass breaking in a corner.

"Blast it," he muttered.

A pretty ginger girl in a slip of a dress was wobbly on her feet and standing over two broken wine goblets. “Oh dear! So sorry, I’m so… _so_!”

Thomas took her arm gently, stepping around the glass and waving people away from the hazard. “Not a problem, my- miss. Sit down, and I’ll have this taken care of.”

He looked around for a waiter and spotting the thin, pale one who’s name he could never remember, he snapped his fingers in the boy’s direction. “Broom! Get a broom, would you?”

When that fire was put out, he was crossing the floor to a table of forlorn looking couples, when Professor Bloom found him. “Mr. Barrow!” He clapped Thomas on the back. “It’s going swimmingly, is it not!”

"Seems to be, yes," Thomas agreed. They had to shout to be heard above the music.

"Well, Schiller seems happy anyhow," Bloom said.

"Good," Thomas said, feeling a measure of relief. "Excellent."

It was odd. He felt himself already developing a subtly different personality when dealing with customers at the club and it had only been a few hours. Schiller had told him he would need to. People didn’t want a stoic butler serving them in a club, they wanted someone who was hosting a party. Mysterious and smooth perhaps, but also inviting.

"Mr. Barrow…" Bloom looked tragic. "You know, I don’t think Peter is true to me."

_For God’s sake._

"He’s not, Professor," Thomas said. "You can do better." Thomas hoped for Bloom’s sake, he didn’t talk so freely to everyone.

"But his poetry is lovely."

Thomas took him by the arm and escorted him to the big bar where Jimmy was glaring at a green concoction in a tall glass. A cluster of young ladies stood nearby, all batting their eyes at Jimmy.

"I require whiskey," Professor Bloom declared, sitting on a stool.

Thomas nodded. He leaned over the bar and when Jimmy perked up and leaned in to talk, he said into his ear, “Water down his whiskey, he’s plastered.”

Jimmy nodded, very serious, and said, “When we get home I’m going to make you hard as stone and plow you into the wall.”

Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent, James. That’s a very good idea.”

Jimmy grinned, sly as ever. As an after thought, Thomas frowned and told him, “Look, don’t make anyone a drink unless you’re sure you know how to make it. Otherwise, have Charlie make it. You’re learning.”

"Yes, sir." Jimmy leaned in again and said, "I’m still puttin’ my prick up your bum later though."

At three o’clock in the morning, the crowd was thin but still alive. Officially, they were closed now, but Schiller’s people hung around as Jimmy played the grand piano that was fixed near the dance floor. The band had left an hour ago. Thomas stood at the foot of the stairs to the second level, smoking and watching Jimmy as the light glimmered along the nearly empty tables. Miss Vyse was dancing by herself. Peter Faring sat in a chair next to Bloom. He was half-asleep, with his head on Bloom’s shoulders. Just one of those ridiculous couples, Thomas supposed. Constance Foster  _was_ asleep at the round table next to Doyle, the American playwright. There were others; rich people and socialites Thomas had been introduced to who he’d already forgotten. He’d have to be introduced again. They danced slow, like they just couldn’t quite stop, or sat at tables, leaning on their hands and smoking.

Lara Schiller plopped down on the piano bench next to Jimmy and sang along to “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.”

"I think we did well for ourselves, old chap, " Schiller said, appearing next to him. "I have some notes. But don’t let that worry you. I’ll have notes for the next two weeks or more."

"Understood," Thomas said agreeably. "But…I did alright?"

"A hundred times better than any of those old heels in London would’ve done on the first night," Schiller said. "I should’ve always hired butlers."

Thomas relaxed a bit. He felt that sense of accomplishment; he was doing a good job and it had been fun, if a little nerve-wracking. He imagined the nerves would lessen as he got used to it.

Jimmy started playing “You Made Me Love You” and Lara sang. Jimmy caught Thomas’s eye and smiled.

By the time they got off work, it was nearly morning. The flat was a short walk away at least. They loitered outside for a minute. The club sat near the beach close to the West End Pier. Thomas and Jimmy crossed the road and strolled east along the railing that looked out on the sand and water. Thomas felt sleepy and happy. They leaned on the railing and watched the sky lighten as the ocean turned from grey to a steel-blue.

"You did well," Jimmy said. "You really did."

"So did you," Thomas said. "Was it fun?"

"I love it! It’s nothin’ like being a footmen. You’re not invisible. Everyone wants to talk. It’s a lark."

"Because everyone in that room fancied you," Thomas said, laughing. "You didn’t even notice."

Jimmy gazed at the sky and rose an eyebrow. “Funny, it doesn’t look like a patient etherized upon a table to me.”

"Ah, Prufrock," Thomas sighed. "Well, it’s morning, not evening. Perhaps we need a more cheerful poem now."

"I’ll write you one," Jimmy declared. "In French."

"You speak French?"

“ _La mer._ " Jimmy swept his hand in the direction of the sea.

"The sea…"

"That’s all the French I know. Who do you think I am? Bloody Rimbaud?"

"You’ve been talkin’ to Peter," Thomas chuckled. "I can’t believe…" He couldn’t quite find the words.

"What is it?" Jimmy said, nudging him.

"I just never thought anything this good could happen to me," Thomas said. "Not even close. Not ever. All of it. Most especially you."

"Well, it has," Jimmy said. "So you’re just gonna have to learn to live with it. Can we go home now? I’m knackered. But not knackered enough that I won’t rip that dinner jacket off of you."

Thomas stood up straight, resting a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Let us go then, you and I.”

THE END


End file.
